The Devil's Cartel: Alternate Version
by Mercstouch
Summary: A different take on the third game in the Army of Two series.
1. Chapter 1

Note: In my opinion, there were a lot of things wrong with the third game. I was pretty excited when I first heard it was coming out mostly because it was based it a cartel ridden Mexico, which is a big issue today and I always found it interesting when the game creators used real life conflict for the plots. In a way, they were making money off of war like the characters. But, come on? Evil Salem? And replacing the two best friends that had well developed characterization with a very generic Alpha and Bravo? I could literally rant for hours. Anyway, out of no satisfaction from the third game, I thought it would be fun to make an alternate version and add some more on to the addition operatives that seemed a lot more interesting than Alpha and Bravo. All characters are canon.

Charles Rendall stood hesitantly outside of the T.W.O. headquarters. He checked his watched. 1:27. His job interview was scheduled for 1:45 p.m. He looked down at the manilla envelope in his hands that held his resume, then looked back at the building, nervous energy running rampant throughout his body.

_Come on, Chuy. You got this. Just an interview. With professional company executives. Who run one of the most successful private military companies in the world. No big deal._

"Fuck," he breathed out quietly.

He took a deep breathe and exhaled, adjusted his tie and suit jacket, then entered the building's lobby. It was a wide, open room almost completely surrounded by large windows. The floors were laid with grey tile and white and black leather chairs were placed around annular glass coffee tables to the right of the lobby. Chuy noticed a young, blonde woman typing away at a reception desk. She looked up from her computer and saw him standing by the doors.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked politely.

Chuy smiled nervously and walked over to the desk.

"I have an appointment at 1:45. A job interview, ma'am."

"Name, please."

"Charles Rendall."

She mouthed his name as she typed, searching through the schedule on her computer.

"Ah, yes," she said, looking back up at him. "You do indeed have a meeting with Mr. Rios and Mr. Salem themselves. Just head up those stairs and make a left down the hall. It should be the fourth room on the right."

He thanked her and made his way up the glass stair case, then began following the woman's earlier directions. When he arrived to the room, it was empty except for a few chairs and a long table. He looked back down at his watch. 1:42. Chuy became worried. He thought for sure this was the room the receptionist directed him to. In fear of being late, he began to wander around the office building in search of his room. After making a few more turns, he was completely lost and a nervous wreck. 1:46. He was already a minute late.  
As he began to become increasingly worried about his tardiness, he heard footsteps approaching from down an adjacent hall. Suddenly, a small girl wearing red pajama pants and an oversized grey T.W.O. t-shirt that came down to her knees appeared around the corner. She pushed her messy, dark hair away from her eyes and smiled up at him.

"Hi," she said happily.

"Uh, hi."

"Who are you?"

"Charles," he answered, confused. "Do you know where I can find a, um, grown up?"

"My daddy's not here right now."

"Daddy?"

"But, Uncle Ellie is," she said enthusiastically. "You wanna talk to him?"

"Yeah, sure," he said.

The small girl smiled and began walking back the way she came. "He's over here. Follow me."

Chuy walked behind her as she lead him down the hall and to an office. They entered the room and Chuy saw a man sitting at the dark, mahogany desk with his feet crossed and resting on top of the paper-littered table. He scratched at his stubbly cheek and pushed back his dark bangs as he scrutinized the paper work in his hand.

"Uncle Ellie," she said. "Someone's here to see you."

Salem looked up from his work and at the man standing next to his niece.

"Come here, Nala," he said as he set the papers on the desk and placed his legs back down. Nala went over to him and he lifted her up onto his lap. "Who're you?"

"That's Charles," Nala answered, looking up at Salem.

"Charles Rendall," Chuy added. "I came here for a job interview."

"Oh, right, right," Salem said. "You're the new guy, the one me and Tyse were gonna check out."

"You mean you're... You're Mr. Salem?"

"No mister, bro," he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Just Salem. Or Elliot. Tyse sometimes calls me dumbass bitch, but that's Tyse."

Nala giggled and looked back at Chuy, grinning.

"My friends used to call me Chuy. Anyway, sorry about bein' late. I got a little lost. I asked the lady at the front-"

"Rebecca? She's new. Don't worry about it," Salem said. "Maybe if Tyse were here, it'd be more of an issue. He's pretty stiff when it comes to tardiness."

"Daddy gets after Uncle Ellie a lot because of that," Nala added.

"Hush. Lucky for you he had to take care of the lovely Mrs. Rios. She's got some kinda virus or something, and the big guy didn't want Nala to catch it, so I'm on kid duty."

"I got to sleep in the office," she said proudly.

"Yeah, while I had to do a shit ton of paper work. Usually her old man does it, but I had to pull an all-nighter to get it done without him. Anyway, back to you." He turned his attention away from Nala and looked at Chuy with a sly smile. "Tell me. Why should we hire you?"

Chuy laid the envelope holding his resume on the desk top and pushed it with a finger toward Salem. The scruffy man picked it up off the desk and opened it, carefully examining the papers inside. Nala leaned back against Salem's chest and studied the papers as well.

"Where you from, Charles?"

"Chicago before I enlisted. Now, I just kinda move a lot."

Salem nodded in understanding and continued to scan through the papers.

"You army?"

"Yeah," Chuy answered. "32nd Infantry."

"No shit," Salem said, intrigued. "Me and Tyse were Rangers before we went private. Says here you served in Afghanistan and Iraq too."

Chuy nodded. "Served as a specialist before I was discharged."

"Uncle Ellie was a Private," Nala interrupted. "First class. And my Daddy was a corporal."

Chuy smiled at Nala and Salem looked down at her, chuckling.

"Are you gonna sit quiet and let me interview this guy of am I gonna have to get Rebecca downstairs to babysit?"

"No, I'll be good," she said, and sat back against Salem quietly.

After a few more minutes of reading, Salem set the papers back down on the desk and smirked at Chuy.

"Well, I'm pretty impressed. Resume looks good. You seem experienced enough. What do think, Nala? You think he checks out?"

"I like him," she said. "We should see how he does at the range."

"Good point, kid-o. You up for some shooting, Charles?"

"If it's part of the interview, sure. Why not."

"Sweet!" Salem exclaimed. "Come on, girly. Let's go blow shit up."

Nala giggled and slid off of Salem's lap. She grabbed his hand and guided him out the door, with Chuy behind them.  
This was definitely not what Chuy had expected. When he heard of Trans World Operations and their success as a private military company, he had anticipated a more corporate and impersonal setting with a couple of white-collar executives that wouldn't care to remember your name or where you're from, just that you signed the contract and did the job they asked you to do and if you came back, you made them some serious bank. It seemed like that at every other firm Chuy had applied for, but T.W.O. was a whole different ballpark. Salem seemed like a pretty laid-back guy, just a regular p.m.c. and his partner, whom Chuy had yet to meet, was most likely the same. Maybe that's what made them so successful. They were experienced mercs who knew what it was like in the field, unlike some of the other executives he'd encountered. They knew the toll this profession took on men like him, like them. They knew what it took to do the kind of work they do and Salem had apparently seen that in Chuy.  
The three made their way down two flights of stairs where they entered the indoor shooting range.

"We do a lot of basic training stuff down here and target practice for recruits," Salem explained. "Come on. Let's pick you out a weapon."

Salem opened a heavy vault door, revealing their weapons cache. Heavy artillery lined the walls as well as a variety of shotguns, sniper rifles, pistols, and revolvers. Tactical gear was displayed along the wall as well, including vests, boots, gloves, armor, and an assortment of protective masks, T.W.O.'s trademark apparel.

"Try this one on for size," Salem called as he tossed over a beretta 90-two pistol and a full cartridge. Chuy loaded it and looked at the gun admiringly.

"Feels nice, don't it?" Salem asked with a grin as he picked a .50 caliber Desert Eagle off of the wall.

"Yeah, real nice."

"Good. Let's try 'em out."

Salem and Chuy stood next to each other at the shooting booths while Nala watched them from behind with thick ear muffs placed over her head. The two men then took aim at the targets before them and with a nod from Salem, they began firing. When they emptied their cartridges, Salem started up the mechanical target holders, which moved the targets down the firing lanes so the two men could inspect their shots.

"Nice shot, Chuy!" Salem exclaimed. "Check it, Nala. He's got quite the aim."

"You did good too, Uncle Ellie."

"Yeah, I always do," Salem said with a chuckle. "But, damn. I'm impressed. It might not be totally official 'cause Rios needs to draw up a contract and everything but, I'd just like to say," Salem said, offering Chuy his hand. "Welcome to Trans World Operations."

"You mean I got the job?!" Chuy asked excitedly.

"Yay!" Nala cried as she lifted her hand up in the air and high-fived him.  
"Welcome to the team," Salem said. "Speaking of teams, we're gonna have to find you a compatible partner."

"Partner?"

"Yeah, two-man teams are kinda our thing," Salem answered. "There's me and Tyse, and Pike's got Bradley. Castle's with P.I."

"I like Bradley," Nala interrupted.

"I know you do, baby girl. Then there's Mason and Houston, and Amp sticks with Einstein."

"Einstein's silly," Nala said with a giggle. "Uncle Ellie, Baker doesn't have a partner."

"I was thinking that too," Salem said. "I don't know if they'd be good together. Don't get me wrong, Chuy, Baker's a cool guy, but he's got a bit of an attitude problem."

"He should meet him," Nala said, tugging on Salem's arm.

"Maybe later, baby girl. I know you want everyone to meet the newest operative, but we still gotta do contracts and psych evaluation-"

"Psych evaluation?"

"Yeah, not that we think you're crazy or anything. Just helps in partnering and understanding how you work best."

"Oh, cool. When do we do that?"

"How 'bout tomorrow when Rios actually shows up. I also still got all that damn paper work to fill out for him. Anyway, nice meeting ya and I'm glad to have ya working with us."

The two shook hands and Nala tugged at Chuy's sleeve. She looked up at him and smiled happily.

"Can't wait for you to meet everyone. I think you'll really like them. And I think you'll like Baker," Nala said to him.

"Thanks, Nala," he said. "I just hope they'll like me."


	2. Chapter 2

Tyson Rios steered his truck in front of the T.W.O. headquarters and parked in his reserved space near the front doors. After stepping out of the old Ford and turning the key in the lock, he walked toward the building and entered the lobby. He was dressed casually, wearing camouflage pants, boots, and a simple grey t-shirt with his and his partner's company logo.

"Good morning, Mr. Rios," the receptionist greeted, looking up from her computer.

"Morning, Rebecca. Please tell me things haven't completely fallen apart without me hear."

"No, sir. Everything's been fine. Mr. Salem actually filled out all that paperwork for you. He also hired that new p.m.c. you planned to interview yesterday. A Mr. Rendall."

"Oh, Christ, I hope he didn't pick out some punk. I'll have to check him out. How about Pike and Bradley? They back yet?"

"They should be at the airport any minute. I've already sent a company car to pick them up."

"How about Amp and Einstein?"

"Mr. Vega and Mr. Hicks called in a mission success and should be arriving from Mali in about seven hours."

"Great. Thanks," he said smiling, then he turned to go up the stairs to meet Salem in his office. When he reached the room, he found Salem sitting with another man. He was African-American and had his hair cut short, almost bald. He had light stubble over his lip and chin and wore a pair of faded jeans with a green army shirt under a black hoodie. The man stood from his chair and offered his hand.

"You must be the new recruit," Rios said, accepting the handshake.

"Tyse, meet Chuy," Salem said with a grin.

"Charles," Chuy corrected nervously.

"Check it, big guy. He's army too. 32nd. Guys got wicked aim. Nala likes him too."

"You met my daughter?" Rios asked curiously.

"Oh, yeah. She's a real sweet girl," Chuy answered with a smile.

"Man, the kid loves him, Tyse. Can't wait to partner him up. Even suggested putting him with Baker," Salem said with a laugh.

"You got his resume for me, Elliot?"

"Yeah, yeah. But come on. You don't trust me to pick out a guy? This one's a keeper."

"Just want to make sure. You got his psych evaluation?"

"Shit, Tyse, I just picked him yesterday. Too busy doing all your usual boring shit. Jesus, I hate paperwork."

"How's your wife?" Chuy asked. "I heard she was sick or something. She doing better?"

"Yeah, thank God," Rios said, skimming through Chuy's papers. "I just hope the little one doesn't catch it, or Salem. Not sure which would be worse."

Chuy gave a slight chuckle and Salem rolled his eyes. After looking through the resume, Rios looked up at Salem.

"Everything checks out here. You said he could shoot?"

"Yeah, big guy. Great shot. Told ya I did good."

"Whatever," Rios said with a smile. "Alright, I'll write up a contract. Just get him to see the company psychologist and get that evaluation. He can't work unless he has a partner."

Salem gave a two-fingered salute and motioned for Chuy to follow him out the door. As they walked down the corridors, Chuy saw two men approaching them, carrying green duffel bags over their shoulders and wearing tactical gear, their masks hooked on their belts. One man, the taller, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair pushed back over his head, gave them a nod and smirked. The other, smaller man, with his light brown hair falling over his forehead and deep blue eyes gave a weak, nervous smile and moved over to stand closer to his friend.

"Hey, Salem!" the taller called. "Who's your boyfriend?"

Salem laughed and lightly punched his shoulder. "Pike, this is Chuy. He's gonna be working with us from now on. Hired him myself."

"Don't know if that's a good thing," Pike teased.

"What do ya mean? I know how to pick 'em. After all, I hired you, didn't I?"

"Anyway, Chuy," Salem continued. "This here's Pike and his partner-"

"Bradley," Chuy said with a half-smile. "Nala told me about you. Said she really liked you."

Bradley shrugged and gave a shy smile, then stood a little closer to Pike. "Yeah, she's cute," he said quietly, looking at the floor. A confused look came over Chuy's face as he examined the young man's odd behavior.

"Bradley's a little shy," Salem explained to Chuy. "But damn, he's one hell of a sniper."

"Fuck yeah he is!" Pike exclaimed. "You shoulda seen him, Salem. Picking off those assholes like it was nothing. That's where that quiet nature comes in handy."

"Well we better go. Tyse wants the shrink to check him out and then we'll hopefully partner him up," Salem said. "You boys gets some rest."

"See ya. Nice meeting ya, Chuy!" Pike called, while Bradley waved slightly in their direction.

As the two walked, Chuy said, "They're a bit of an odd pairing."

"Yeah," Salem agreed.

"Look young. How old are they?"

"Pike's thirty one. Bradley's twenty five."

"Damn."

"But, hey, they work."

"Wouldn't expect them too. They're so different."

"Opposites attract, I guess. The way I see it, Pike and Bradley compliment each other. Complete each other even. Pike's a great at what he does. He's quick, he's confident, he's smart, but he can get a little distracted sometimes. Bradley's quiet, a bit awkward when it comes to socializin', and he's lacking a bit in the confidence department, but he's focused and dedicated to the job and one hell of a shot. You see how these two work now? They keep each other in check. Bradley keeps Pike on target and makes sure the job gets done. Pike gives a different look on the situation and gives Bradley that little confidence boost he needs every now and then. They watch each other's back. They work."

"They sound amazing."

"Yeah, when their together. Hopefully, we'll find you a partner to do for you what Bradley and Pike do for each other."

Chuy nodded, taking in Salem's words. "What about you and Rios?"

"Well, Tyse is kinda boss. Don't get me wrong, we're partners and we work just as hard as the other, but he's always been more clear in the head. Know what I'm saying? He's just more of a decision maker, I guess."

"And you?"

Salem chuckled. "God, it's been so long. Met him when I was a kid in the army and, Jesus, did we have it out for each other. Then, something, I don't know, clicked and we just kinda stuck. Man, was I a rotten little shit," he started laughing as memories came flooding back. "I was smaller than the others, still kinda am, and I felt like I had to try harder to prove to everyone else I could do something, you know? Got me into a lot of trouble takin' on more than I could chew, but there was Tyse to keep me out of trouble and a lot of times get me out of it. Anyway, here's the shrink."

Salem nodded to the door they stopped in front of and gave Chuy a pat on the shoulder.

"Good luck."


	3. Chapter 3

Salem entered Rios' office and tossed a manilla envelope onto his desk.

"Got that psych evaluation on Chuy," Salem explained. "Check it. Doc actually thinks he could be compatible with Baker. Baker!"

Rios eyed Salem and retrieved the envelope off of his desk. After scanning through the papers, he nodded and set them back down on the desk.

"From the looks if this report, seems like they would."

"Nala fuckin' called it," Salem said with a chuckle.

"Speaking of Nala, you wanna go check on her? She's downstairs with Bradley, watching him train with Houston in some hand-to-hand."

"I thought she'd be at home with Samantha."

"Still afraid she'll catch whatever the hell her mom had, which is the last thing I need right now. I got a lot of stuff to take care of, so could you watch her, Elliot?"

"Sure, Tyse," Salem said and made his way downstairs to the gym. He found Nala sitting on a bench beside Pike, watching with excitement as Houston and Bradley practiced.

"Put your left foot here, a little more to the left," Houston instructed. "Then you grab your opponent's arm here..."

"Hey, kid-o. Hey Pike," Salem said as he sat down beside her. "How're they doin'?"

"Great, Uncle Ellie. Bradley's really learning fast. Houston's a good teacher."

"That is great."

"Did you partner up Chuy yet?"

"Actually, yeah. What can I say? You know how to group 'em. Doc says he's compatible with Baker."

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, pumping her fist.

"Yeah, yeah."

They heard a thump and looked over to see that Houston was on the floor with Bradley kneeling over him, twisting Houston's arm behind him and forcing him down with his knee.

"Jesus, Russ," Pike yelled, hopping up from the bench and running toward Bradley.

"Sorry," he said quietly as he stood off of Houston and helped him to his feet. Nala stood from the bench and ran over to them, bringing with her a bottle of water.

"That was awesome!" She squealed, handing Bradley the bottle. "You're doing great."

"Thanks Nala," he said quietly and smiled.

"Yeah, Bradley," Pike added, fist bumping his partner. "You kicked some serious ass. You alright, Houston?"

"Yeah," the older man mumbled, rubbing his shoulder. "Nice takedown, Bradley."

"Thanks for teaching me some new techniques," Bradley muttered. "It was really helpful."

"Yeah, thanks Houston," Pike said with a smile as he shook his hand. "I woulda done it, but I really fucked up my shoulder on that last trip."

Everyone turned when they heard footsteps coming toward the gym. Baker appeared from around a corner, giving Salem an irate look.

"You partnered me up? I told you I don't need anyone. You coulda at least let me actually see him first before you put my life in some fucker's hands I don't even know!"

"Baker, listen," Salem said, his volume increasing. "I woulda let ya meet him if you'd actually picked up the goddamn phone. Why haven't you been answering?"

Baker went silent, taken aback.

"None of your business."

"Actually, it is my fuckin' business. You work for me."

"Hey, I'm pretty hungry," Bradley mumbled to Nala as her took her hand. "Let's get something from the lunchroom, okay?"

Pike nodded at his partner. "Yeah, Salem. We're gonna go. Need anything, we'll be in the cafeteria." He laid a hand on Bradley's back and shot a warning glare at Baker before leading them out of the gym and up the stairs.

"So, Salem continued. "What's the deal?"

Baker looked down at he ground and exhaled sharply. "A lot's been goin' on. Family stuff. I think it's better if I just work alone."

"Workin' alone ain't part of the job description, Tony. I know you might think it's easier pushin' people away and goin' solo, but trust me, it's not. So how 'bout before you completely reject this guy, you give him a chance. Chuy's cool and Doc said you two could work. Just meet him, talk to him. If you're havin' doubts after that, I'll find someone else, but you're not workin' alone. We cool?"

Baker sighed and nodded. "Yeah, we cool."

"Good. You said you had a lot goin' on. Maybe after you meet Chuy, you guys can talk it out. Partners are good for that sort a thing. Lord knows I had a lot of shit goin' on with family and the only way I think I got through that was with Tyse. Just put some faith in him. Shit, put some faith in me, I picked him out."

"Okay, Salem. I'll meet him. Sorry 'bout, you know, coming in and bein' a dick."

"S'okay, kid. If I couldn't put up with smack I think I woulda quit this job years ago," he said with a chuckle. "Chuy's supposed to come in around 1:30. He should be in Tyse's office. Be there."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Baker said. "I'm gonna get a bite to eat with Pike and Bradley. See ya, Salem."

"You do that. Oh, and Baker. When ya see Chuy, play nice."

Baker rolled his eyes and made his way to the cafeteria. He knew Salem was right about the whole partner thing. Hell, the guy didn't run one of the most successful private military companies by himself. Maybe Chuy could be for him what Rios was for Salem. Baker was good, he knew he was good, but maybe someone like Chuy could make him better.


	4. Chapter 4

Chuy entered the gym at T.W.O. headquarters to find Salem jogging at a steady pace on one of the treadmills. His dark hair was damp and his bare, scarred chest was glistening with sweat. His feet hit the ramp of the machine to the beat of M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes" which blared in his ears as he ran. Salem noticed Chuy wave to him and so he pressed a button on the treadmill, turning it off. After yanking the buds out of his ears and plopping down on a bench, he smiled and greeted him through heavy breathes.

"What's up, Chuy?" he said as he wiped a towel over the back of his neck. "Did Baker meet up with you yesterday?"

"Yeah," Chuy answered. "Like you said, he's a pretty cool guy. He was kinda edgy at first, but I think he's just had a lot goin' on with his sister and everything."

Salem smiled, happy that Baker actually took his advice and discussed his issues with Chuy.

"That's great. After you get a feel for how each other work and get some more training under your belt, Tyse and I'll find a job for ya. How about everyone else? They behavin'?"

"Yeah, actually," Chuy said with a grin. "I met Amp and Einstein yesterday too."

Salem chuckled and said, "You'd better watch your back with those two. They've got a wicked sense of humor and aren't afraid to use it on anyone."

"Yeah. You'd think with me bein' the new guy and everything it'd be different, but everyone's pretty cool."

"Well lucky for you, you aren't the new guy anymore. We actually hired two new contractors. Alpha and Bravo. Me and Tyse are goin' out to do a job down in Mexico tomorrow and we're taking the new recruits with us. Something about retrieving some hostages from the cartel. Anyway, I didn't think we should use the new guys just yet, but Rios says they're ready."

"You trust that call? I mean, I got here before those guys and you still haven't sent me to do a job."

"Yeah, I trust Tyse's call," Salem said with a half-smile. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Salem stood from the bench and grabbed a shirt from his locker.

"Hey, Salem?" Chuy asked as the other man slipped his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. He nodded to the circular mark on Salem chest that neared his heart. "If you don't mind me asking, where'd you get that scar. Looks like it was a pretty close call."

"It was," Salem said, a look of discomfort appearing on his face. He quickly covered up any anxiety with a weak and apprehensive smile. "Got it in Shanghai."

***  
"Baker! Two o'clock!" Chuy shouted.  
The two, standing back-to-back, were down at the shooting range practicing. A flat, human-shaped target popped up from the floor to Baker's right, to which he turned and immediately shot down with his ak-47.  
A couple days had passed since Rios and Salem left for Mexico on a job, bringing with them their new recruits, Alpha and Bravo. Neither Chuy nor the other contractors had heard from them, but they chose not to worry, carrying on with their work, which for Chuy and Baker meant training.  
After the exercise was done, the two lifted and unhooked their masks. Chuy's was painted navy blue, a red cross within a white circle laying over his mouth and nose area. Baker's mask had a more patriotic appearance with its two red and white stripes running down the sides and down to a point near his chin, along with the white stars lined down the middle.

"Nice shot," Chuy said.

"Didn't do bad yourself, partner."

As the two began undoing their tactical gear and putting on their civilian attire, they heard rapid footsteps approaching. Einstein appeared from around a corner and ran over to them.

"It's Rios!" he exclaimed. "He's in the hospital! He's-he's-"

"Slow down, Einstein," Baker barked.

"Yeah, man," added Chuy. "What's wrong?"

The young blonde caught his breath and looked at them with concern.

"The whole mission in Mexico went FUBAR. Rios is in the hospital. Lost his leg. Alpha and Bravo got him out though and a girl."

"Holy shit," Baker breathed.

"What about Salem?" Chuy asked, fearing the worst.

"Don't know for sure. The two new guys said his truck got hit by an RPG, so doesn't sound like he made it."

"Did they fuckin' check?" Baker asked.

"Bravo said they couldn't. Rios tried but the truck blew and he hurt his leg. That's how he lost it."

"Come on," Chuy said. "We gotta see him."

The three rode together in one of the company vans, bringing with them Amp, Pike, and Bradley. Castle drove the others with him in his truck. When they reached the hospital, Houston, Mason, and P.I. hopped out of the truck's bed and ran to meet the others at the hospital lobby. They found Samantha sitting the waiting room, holding Nala in her lap. Alpha and Bravo stood nearby. When the small girl saw them, she slid from her mother's lap and ran to them, pulling on Bradley's sleeve.

"Daddy's sleeping in his room. He just had surgery."

Pike leaned down on one knee and looked at her with concern. "You okay?"

She nodded solemnly and looked down at her shoes. "Will he be alright?"

"Yeah, honey," Houston said reassuringly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Your old man's tough. I'm sure he'll be okay."

Chuy walked over to Samantha, who sat sniffling softly in her chair.

"You're Rios' wife, right? Samantha?"

She looked up at him with red, puffy eyes and shook her head.

"I'm Charles," he said. "I work with your husband. You okay? You need anything?"

She stayed silent for a few seconds, then looked back up into his eyes.

"The doctors said they had to remove his leg. I told him he shouldn't have gone. I told him-" Her voice broke and she held her face in her hands, sobbing. Chuy crouched down and tried to console her.  
They all stayed the night at the hospital, waiting for any news about Rios' condition. The men let Samantha and Nala take the couch. The rest laid strewn around the waiting room, sleeping awkwardly in their chairs the rest of the night.

Rios awoke from his drug induced sleep the next morning to find Samantha gripping his hand tightly.

"Sam..."

"Baby, don't talk. It's okay," she said, almost whispering. "You're okay."

"Where's Nala?"

"She's with the guys in the waiting room," Samantha answered, giving a weak smile. "They're all worried sick."

Rios sighed and closed his eyes, the events leading up to now seeming fuzzy in his memory. Suddenly his eyes shot open and he turned to Samantha, attempting to sit up.

"Where's Elliot?"

Samantha was taken aback by the question, unsure of the answer herself. "I-I don't know, baby. Do you want to see one of the guys?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good."

She left the room then returned minutes later, along with the other men.

"They all wanted to see you," she said with an apologetic smile.

"Hey, boss man," Amp said, walking up closer to the bed. The other men greeted him too as they came into the room. When Alpha and Bravo entered, a sudden furious glare came over Rios' face.

"You fucking cowards!" he yelled. "You bastards left him! You fucking left him!"

The two stood back, shocked from the enraged man's attack, but even more shocked by his tears.

Alpha tried to vindicate himself and his partner. "We tried everything we-"

"The hell you did!" Rios interrupted. "He tried everything to get you and that girl out, and what did you do? You fuckin' leave the moment it gets hairy! I promised him I'd never do something like that again. I fucking swore-"

He laid back on his bed, exhausted, sweat daubing his forehead, tears streaking down his face.

"I swore I'd never leave him again. Just go. Get out!"

Bravo stood silently near the door, looking down, unable to face Rios. Alpha grabbed his arm and nodded for him to head out of the room. The two left, carefully closing the door behind them.

Three days had passed since Rios had been hospitalized. Three days since the mission in Mexico went completely awry. Three days since Salem had gone missing and was presumed dead. That is, until T.W.O. received an anonymous video.

"Shit, Rios, you gotta see this!" Pike exclaimed, setting the laptop down on his abdomen. "Someone sent us this. Don't know who exactly, but watch."

Pike began playing the video and the other men positioned themselves by the bed to watch it alongside Rios. It began with an out of focus, dark image, that slowly came into view. A man. In rugged, ripped clothing sat tied to a wooden chair, a brown sack covering his face. Another man, wearing a black, cloth mask and carrying a rifle approached him and ripped the bag from his head, revealing a beaten and burned Salem. He flinched from the light, squeezing his dark eyes shut and gritting his teeth. Someone from behind the camera shouted at him in Spanish with a harsh, gruff voice.

"I told ya I don't know what you're saying!"

The man that pulled the sack from Salem's head returned, giving him a harsh blow to the head with the but of his rifle.

The gruff voice returned. "Read the cards like we told you."

Salem sighed heavily and looked up at the camera with angry, defiant eyes.

"My name is Elliot Salem," he began in a monotonous voice. "I am a T.W.O. operative being held by La Guadaña. Come on, I don't want to read this bullshit!"

He recieved another blow.

"Read. The. Cards."

Salem spat out the blood that pooled in his mouth and reluctantly continued.

"If the cartel does not receive 2.5 million dollars by the end of the week, I will be slaughtered like the American pig I am. Yeah, fuck you too."

Another hit to the face enraged him and Salem fought in his bonds.

"You fuckers! Tyse, if you get this, beat the living shit outta these assholes. Don't give them a fuckin'-"

There was a commotion from behind the camera and in their rush to stop Salem's rant, the cartel members knocked over the camera onto the dusty, dirt floor. There was a scream off camera that Rios recognized as Salem's and a few seconds later, the film stopped, leaving the men in the hospital room silent.

"Give them what they want," Rios said in a grave voice.

"But Rios-"

"Give them what they want! It's Salem. He's worth it."

"With all due respect, Rios," Houston said. "They're a ruthless cartel. Givin' them millions is gonna make the situation in Juarez a hell of a lot worse. We can't negotiate with those bastards."

Rios sighed. "I chose a city over my partner once..." He looked up at Houston with a stern and determined look.

"And I'm not doin' it again."


	5. Chapter 5

"So," Pike said, looking around at the other men. "What do we do now?"

Houston sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall outside Rios' room. "We can't give them all that money. It's not right."

"Who cares if it's right?" Castle butted in. "It's Rios' company, his money. If he says pay, I say we pay."

"Yeah," P.I. agreed. "Besides, it's not just about the money. It's Salem. He's being held by the fuckin' cartel. We can't just leave him in the hands of those bastards. Just think of what they did to those girls. They can do something like that to some innocent girls, imagine what they'd do to-"

"Shut the fuck up," Mason interrupted, gritting his teeth as he looked angrily at the floor.

"Just saying," P.I. continued. "Those crazy fucks are probably breaking his bones, startin' out with the fingers, then movin' up to his-"

"I said shut your fuckin' mouth," Mason growled, giving P.I. a warning glare.

"You can tell me to shut the fuck up all day long, but you know it's true."

"I think both of you need to chill out," Pike said before the two could argue any further.

The two men stood back against the wall, giving each other angry glances. Einstein spoke up. "What do ya think boss man meant? You know, the part about giving up his partner to save a city?"

"Don't know, man," Amp answered solemnly. "Don't think it's our business."

"You're right, P.I.," Houston said. "About those bastards being evil. So do you really think we should give them two point five million dollars so they can buy more guns and drugs and ammo and hurt more innocent people?"

"No, I think we should give them two point five million dollars to get Salem back."

"You guys," Baker said. "How do we know they'll even give Salem back? I mean, they're the cartel. That's about as untrustworthy as it gets."

Chuy nodded. "Baker's got a point."

"But if we don't give them the money, we definitely won't get him back," Castle added. "A chance is better than nothin'."

P.I. scoffed. "Or they'd send us his head in a cardboard box."

"What the fuck did I tell you?!" Mason yelled as he came at P.I.

Pike and Amp stepped between them. The last thing they needed was to get kicked out of the hospital for fighting in the hallway. A chorus of bickering and arguing erupted between the men as they discussed the decision at hand. Then, Bradley whispered quietly into Pike's ear. The taller nodded, giving his partner a smirk.

"Hey, Bradley's got somethin' to say! Listen up!"

The men quieted down, surprised to hear any input from the youngest.

"Um," Bradley started, the numerous eyes focused on him taking him by surprise. "Well, I was thinking, why don't we just go in and get Salem back ourselves?"

There was an immense silence as the other contractors took his words into consideration.

"I was just thinking," Bradley continued. "Houston said we shouldn't give in to the cartel, but we still wanna get Salem back. We also don't know for sure if we do what they say that they'll even give us Salem, so we should just go in and get him ourselves."

"I don't know, Bradley," Amp said as he ran his fingers through his black hair. "Rios and Salem went in to fight the cartel and look what happened to them. They're, like, the best."

"This would be different," Bradley argued. "It wouldn't be just two teams, it'd be five. We could all go."

"Woah, Russ, slow down," Mason said. "We can't just run into a cartel compound."

"Why not?" Pike asked. "We got the tools, the transportation, the intel. All you gotta do is say yes."

The men looked away from each other, thinking, reluctant to agree with Bradley's proposition. The young man looked around desperately at his fellow contractors.

"Amp," Bradley muttered. "What if it was Einstein?"

"What?"

"What of it was Einstein in Salem's place? Wouldn't you do everything you could to get him back?"

"Don't-"

"No, think about it," Pike barked. "P.I., what if it was Castle who those bastards were torturing and breaking their fingers?" P.I. looked down at the floor, then over to his partner whom stood by his side.

He nodded and turned to Bradley. "Okay, I'm game."

"What?" everyone asked simultaneously.

"I said I'll do it," P.I. reiterated. "You with me, bro?"

Castle chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Always. What do you pussies say, huh? Comin' or not?"

Einstein nodded and smiled, a blonde curl falling over one eye. Amp rolled his eyes and gave his partner a weak smile. "Guess I am too."

One by one, each man agreed to go along with Bradley's plan, leaving Houston and Mason last.

"Come on, old man," Pike said. "You know Salem and Rios would do it for you."

Houston sighed and placed his hands in his jean pockets. He looked to Mason who shrugged and gave a nod of approval.

"Kid's right," Mason said. "They would do it for us. Hell, I know I would for you."

Houston exhaled sharply and stood off of the wall, scratching at the stubble on his cheek.

"Fine, yeah, I'll do it. But if something goes wrong, don't say I didn't warn you."

Piked grinned. "That's more like it. Come on, I say we go to HQ, get some rest, make some plans, then tomorrow we get suited up and kick some La Guadaña ass."

"Wait," Chuy said. "Shouldn't we tell Rios?"

"Hell no," Baker answered. "He'd never let us do this after everything that had happened. I say we keep this little trip to ourselves."

"Secret mission?," Einstein asked with a grin. "Hells yeah!"

Amp rolled his eyes. "Dork."

"Everyone clear on the plan?" Pike asked.

The men nodded in agreement, a new nervous energy running through them.

"Sweet," Pike said with a smug grin. "Let's get to work."


	6. Chapter 6

"How's your arm?"

Pike sighed and rolled his shoulder, wincing. "S'okay," he answered Bradley. "Still a little sore, but I'll manage. It'll be fine."

Bradley gave a weak, anxious smile, and looked down at the arid, dusty landscape passing by rapidly beneath their chopper. He turned his attention to the men around him, eying their body language and behavior. Most sat silently next to their partner, idly dusting off their masks or checking the clips and buckles on their tactical gear. Einstein tapped his foot with nervous energy, causing Amp to lay a hand on his knee to stop him and offer the young blonde one of his earbuds as a distraction.  
They were all unsure about the task at hand. Breaking into a drug cartel compound for a high-risk search and rescue operation wasn't exactly their ideal Friday night, but they knew they had to do it for the company, for Salem, and for Rios. The usually composed and tough man had seemed so lost since his partner had been taken. He hadn't been able to sleep without the help of medication. He'd barely eaten, barely spoke. The most the men had heard him talk was when he ran Alpha and Bravo from his room. Rios and Salem May bicker and tease, but deep down they really cared about each other. The last few days had proven that.  
The chopper landed at Benito Juarez International Airport, about 40 klicks west of the cartel compound. The men stepped from the chopper, unloading their green duffel bags and additional gear. After Houston shouted to the pilot in the cockpit, giving further instructions about extraction, he rejoined the small group.

"Listen up," he barked. "Just so we're all clear on the plan, we take the armored truck to the compound and our teams will split up to search the barns. Take out anyone who gets on the way. Once one of you finds Salem, radio us on the mics. We'll come to assist and make our way back to the truck, then get the hell outta there for extraction. Any questions?"

The men looked around at each other with questioning looks, then turned their attention back to Houston, waiting for further instructions. The older man nodded.

"Anyone want to back down? Now would be the time to do it."

"Hell, no," Amp said with a smirk. "No man left behind!"

The others shouted in approval, making Houston chuckle. "Alright, you crazy bastards," he said. "Let's do this."

The group drove across the dry, dirt road toward the compound in the old ford covered in a patchwork of metal armor, a mounted gun sitting in the bed being manned by Mason. The others sat in the floor of the truck's bed, keeping a keen eye on the desert landscape spotted with cacti and brush. As they came closer to the compound, Pike lowered his mask, designed with a faded white bullseye design over a navy blue background. The others followed suit, pulling their protective masks over their faces. The iron gates of the enclosure appeared over the horizon.

"Heads up, guys," Houston's voice said in their earpieces. "I'm gonna floor it."

Houston kicked the pedal to the floor of the truck, making it lunge forward, the men in the back steadying themselves and their guns. The two guards standing at the gates screamed into their radios as the truck accelerated toward the compound, kicking up an immense cloud of dust behind it. They fired on the vehicle, but to no avail as it rammed through the gates and broke its way into the compound. Bradley and Pike stood simultaneously in the truck bed as the vehicle entered the enclosure and fired on the guards running after them, shooting both in the head with their high powered sniper rifles.  
Houston swerved the truck to a stop and hollered at the men in the back to jump out, while Mason covered them, mowing down the approaching cartel members with the mounted gun. The groups of two hopped over the sides of the bed and went their separate ways into the compound.

Amp and Einstein ran into the first barn they saw. As soon as they open the wide doors, gun fired blared in their ears.

"Hey, blondie!" Amp shouted over the immense sound. "Get their attention!"

Einstein nodded, shaking his dingy, white "goalie" mask that protected his face. He began firing blindly at the enemy, which swore at them furiously in Spanish. Amp watched as they stood from their barriers to shoot in Einstein's direction, and while they were distracted shot them down. After unloading his clip into three more men, the barn fell silent and the two contractors stood up from behind their cover and searched the area for Salem.

"Nothin' but barrels over here," Einstein called.

Amp looked around his side of the barn, seeing nothing but large blue barrels filling the room. After hearing about the cartel's sadistic reputation and watching a little too much 'Breaking Bad' he was a bit hesitant about checking the contents of the plastic containers, and decided to radio the others.

"No luck here, guys. We're moving on to the next one."

Baker and Chuy walked cautiously through a shabby, neglected courtyard, aiming their weapons, watching each other's back. Vines and cacti grew rampant around the yard, reaching up through the cracks and fissures of the weather-worn, beige stones beneath their combat boots. The two stopped at the dry, crumbling fountain that was centered in the plaza.

"I see a barn," Baker said, lowering his gun and pointing. "There, up-Ah!"

A shot was fired from a balcony behind him, clipping his shoulder armor and making Baker stumble. Chuy turned immediately and shot down the assailant, only to see about twenty more take his place around the courtyard.

Chuy and Baker positioned themselves back-to-back and began firing.

Pike and Bradley had just emptied their assigned barn when Baker's voice shouted into their earpieces.

"There's too many! Need backup!" he yelled. "Somebody, we're in the courtyard!"

Pike looked to Bradley and said, "Nothin' here. Just a hell of a lotta guns. Maybe we should take a few."

"No time," Bradley called, climbing up on the roof of the building. "They need backup!" He began sprinting on the shingles and hopping onto adjacent rooftops of the plaza toward the courtyard. Pike followed suit and ran close behind him, stopping and crouching when they caught sight of Chuy and Baker. The two on the ground were completely surrounded by cartel members firing from above. Bradley quickly peered through the scope of his rifle and began taking out the assailants.

"Thanks for comin'," Chuy radioed.

"Don't mention it," Pike answered, sniping another man and causing him to flip off the balcony onto the floor in front of Baker. "We got these assholes. You two get to cover and look for Salem."

"Roger that," Baker called and the two ran from the courtyard to an adjacent building.

Castle and P.I. kicked open the wooden doors to the sun-baked clay building and opened fire onto the men sitting casually at a table, drinking. The men were down before they could stand.

"Holy shit," Castle exclaimed, lifting his mask to get a better look at the contents of the room. "Is-is that..?"

"Heroine," P.I. finished with a smirk. "And a whole lot of it."

Castle picked up one of the many large blocks wrapped in plastic and examined it. "This has gotta be, what, 30k a brick?"

"Depends of purity," P.I. said, eying the cache. "But yeah, 30k at least."

Castle gave his partner a concerned look. "You're not planning on taking any to the states, are ya?"

P.I. chuckled, picking up a bottle from the table and ripping a piece of cloth from one of the dead men's shirts. He stuffed the cloth into the half-filled bottle and pulled out his lighter. "Oh, no. I've got a better idea."

Chuy and Baker pulled open the doors to the old barn and quickly took cover as gun fired hailed around them, assaulting their ears. Baker stood from his cover and took out the enemies to the right, while Chuy took the left. When the room fell silent, they stood and searched around the room. Suddenly Baker heard Chuy called for him and he ran to find his partner. After rounding a corner, he saw Chuy hunched over Salem in the corner of the room, checking his pulse. Salem was laid on an old, dingy mattress box in the corner of the room that was stained with what appeared to be blood, most likely his own. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, the taut rope bruising and cutting into his wrists, making blood trickle down his fingers.

"He's alive," Chuy answered, pulling his fingers from Salem's throat and untying the ropes that held him. When he released his hands, Chuy rolled him over and lightly patted his cheek that wasn't burned.

"Salem. Salem!"

His sunken eyes fluttered open and he licked his dry, cracked lips.

"Tyse?"

"No, man. It's Chuy. We're getting you outta here."

Salem looked around the room, dazed and confused, as if trying to remember where he was. He turned his attention back to Chuy, who held the back of his head. Baker radioed in to the others alerting them of their's and Salem's position.

"Okay, everyone," Houston's voice said into their earpieces. "Meet up with Chuy and Baker. Let's get outta here!"

Chuy stood Salem up and wrapped the man's arm around his shoulder. Baker followed suit and helped his partner support the weak man. Baker noticed his shoes were missing from his cut and bruised feet. His right ankle was bent and swollen, revealing a break.  
One by one, the teams entered the barn.

"He looks like shit," Amp said, lifting his mask and walking over to Salem.

"Let's just get him outta here," Baker said. "Wait, where's Castle and P.I.?"

The other teams shrugged and Pike radioed them.

"Yo, Castle. Where are you? We're prepping to leave."

"Calm your tits, pretty boy. We're working on it. Go on and we'll meet ya at the truck."

Pike rolled his eyes. "Whatever, you guys heard him. Circle up around Chuy and Baker. Keep these sorry fucks off of them."

Amp and Einstein took the right while Bradley and Pike took the left, forming a protective barrier. The group made their way out of the barn and through the compound, back the way they came. Suddenly, a squadron of heavily armed cartel members circled them and opened fire. Baker let go of Salem and went behind Chuy, taking down the assailants flanking them.

"Castle, P.I.!" Amp shouted into his radio. "We could really use some extra guns over here!"

"Houston, there's too many!" Pike hollered. "You're gonna have to bring the truck to us!"

"Roger that!"

Houston turned the wheel and floored it, kicking up dust as he drove the truck further into the compound. The truck barreled and rocked over the uneven, barren landscape, knocking down and running over whatever was unfortunate enough to enter its path. Mason continued to man the mounted gun, mowing down men as they came into his view. When he approached the group, Houston rapidly turned the wheel and skidded to a stop, causing a dust cloud to fly up around them. The men hopped in the back and lifted Salem into the bed, laying him down on the floor between them.

"The fuck are you guys?!" Amp yelled into his radio.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Castle and P.I. ran full speed toward the truck, grinning madly. A huge explosion erupted from the barn they left, making them holler and laugh. The two hopped into the bed and banged on the side, alerting Houston to drive. The other contractors looked in awe at the massive explosion behind them. The truck spun wildly out of the compound and P.I. flicked off and screamed at the remaining cartel members chasing them.

"T.W.O. bitches!"


	7. Chapter 7

The man watched from the entrance of the compound anxiously as the cream-colored '67 Cadillac made its way down the dirt road. When it entered through the gates and parked near the worn, rustic plaza, a man stepped out, placing a well polished, cowboy boot onto the dusty, arid ground. He was dressed in a white cotton suit with a blue, plaid button-up shirt underneath. His expensive fine leather wallet was tucked neatly in his jacket pocket. If the man waiting hadn't been aware of who the visitor was, he still would've known of his power and importance. The visitor clearly had an ostentatious and smug appearance, from his fine clothes and shoes, to his expensive car, to his manner.

"Señor Bautista," the man greeted nervously, offering his hand. "It is an honor."

Bautista looked down pretentiously at the dirty, rough hand extended to him, then walked away, turning his attention toward the scorched and broken remains of the building that once held his heroine cache.

"You said agents of T.W.O. did this?" he asked in Spanish.

"Yes, señor," the man answered, nodding his head profusely.

Bautista sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "First, they kill my men and take the girl. Then, they come in, kill more of my men, and take back their own. But they decide that's not enough, so they burn millions of dollars of product. My product. My money."

"Yes, señor."

"And you let this happen?"

The man stood in shock, taken aback. He waved his hands defensively and stuttered as he spoke. "No, señor Bautista. I would never-"

"But you did," Bautista interrupted. "You let them walk in here and make a fool of La Guadaña!You let then come in and take what was ours, what was mine!"

Bautista regained his composure and exhaled sharply, running a hand through his slick, black hair and fixing his jacket.

"I promise, señor," the man reassured. "It won't happen again."

Bautista chuckled and looked around at the disaster surrounding him. "You've said that one too many times, amigo," he said cooly before he pulled the pistol from his belt and shot the man through the head.

Rios' eyes fluttered open and he looked around the room. He did a double take when he saw Salem sitting in a chair by his bed, resting a hand over his own.

"Elliot?"

"Yeah, big guy. I'm here."

Rios chuckle slightly, still shocked by seeing his partner by his bedside. A bandage was coiled around his forehead, his bangs falling over it in messy strands. His right cheek as well as most of his neck and shoulder were bound in white gauze and his left eye was blackened and bruised. Rios' eyes welled with tears and he swallowed hard as he took in the sight. Salem shushed him and squeezed his hand.

"S'okay, Tyse."

"Didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

Salem gave a weak smile. "Gonna take more than that to get rid of me."

"How-"

"The boys came and got me," Salem explained. "Busted into the goddamn compound like it was nothin'. Cartel didn't know what hit 'em."

Rios looked confusedly at his partner. "Came and got you? They never said anything about that. I told them to pay."

"And I told you not to," Salem said with a smirk. "Don't ya ever listen?"

Rios smiled weakly and looked up at Salem's face. He lifted a hand and gently caressed Salem's scarred and burned cheek with his thumb. Salem held his hand against his face and closed his eyes, grateful to be able to feel his partner's touch again.

"What'd they do to you, Ellie?" Rios whispered, looking Salem up and down.

The smaller man swallowed hard and gripped Rios' hand tightly with his own bandaged one. The bigger man knew that look, had seen it over their many years working together. It was a look his partner gave him whenever something traumatic or just overall bad happened. It was a look that said 'I don't want to talk about it.' or 'It hurts too much." Salem, he found, was one of those people that thought it was easier to not show their pain and hide it all inside, and Rios knew it was taking a toll. His dismal thoughts and worries faded momentarily and smile tugged at the corners of Rios' mouth as he examined the small, green dinosaur bandaid plastered on his friend's cheek.

"Ellie, what the hell?" Rios asked with a grin.

Salem chuckled. "Nala."

"Of course."

There was a sudden knock on the door and Salem released Rios' hand as the door opened and the guys entered the hospital room. They greeted both men cheerily, patting them on the shoulder or giving fake punches. Rios gave them a stern look, making them fall silent.

"You all realize you ignored direct orders, took a company vehicle and chopper into a foreign country, and made a full on offensive attack on a notorious and violent Mexican drug cartel?"

Salem rolled his eyes. "Come on, Tyse."

"Let me finish," Rios barked. "You realize how reckless and stupid that was? If any of you got killed, you know what that could've done to the company?"

"Tyse. Don't-"

"Can I say something here?" Amp asked cautiously.

"No," Rios continued. "What you did was extremely idiotic."

He exhaled sharply, then smiled. "Thank you."

A chorus of "What?!" erupted from the group.

"You boys did all that for me and my partner and that's, well, that's amazing. I don't know how to thank you."

"You could pay us," P.I. suggested. Castle smacked the back of his head and the other men scolded him, waving their hands in a berating fashion. Salem stood from his chair, supporting himself with a crutch, and patted P.I. playfully on he back, then roughed up his hair. He laughed wholeheartedly and looked around the room at his employees, his friends, his family, his saviors.

"My boys."

Bautista sat at his desk in the round office room of his mansion, sipping tequila, brooding at the scorched metal mask facing him from the desktop. He threw back the drink, swallowing the remaining liquor, and placed the empty glass on the table. Sitting up from his chair and resting his elbows on his knees, he carefully scrutinized the mask with a detesting scowl. He lifted the piece of metal off the table and held it in his hands, carefully tracing over the flames painted on the sides. The charred mask resembled the burned face of the man that once wore it, the man that they had pulled from the wreckage of a blazing truck, the man they had spent hours interrogating, the man that was taken from them by T.W.O. contractors, the man who's apparent rescue resulted in millions of dollars of property damage.  
He kept asking himself how a ragtag group of men could just barge into his compound and wreak the immense amount of havoc they did. There was obviously a security problem. He had suggested it be fixed, but unfortunately for his main security officer, it wasn't.  
They denied paying for the hostage and to add insult to injury, these arrogant, impudent, American mercenaries went out of their way to obliterate his product, his work, his fortune.  
No matter. These haughty, egotistical soldiers of fortune would get what was coming to them. He wouldn't make his move immediately. He would plan, scheme, bide his time. He would take down this T.W.O. No, he would decimate them completely, wipe them from the face of this god-forsaken country that he had assumed control of.  
Looking back to the mask, he scoffed and stood from his seat, slamming the scorched headpiece onto his desk. This one thought he was safe, thought he had escaped, thought he had won, but he was horribly mistaken. He would once again face the wrath of La Guadaña and his suffering would be unlike anything he could possibly conceive. Bautista smirked, the thought of crushing the man's skull beneath his boot amusing him. He would pay, they all would. Bautista would make sure of that.


	8. Chapter 8

"Come on, big guy. Just a few more steps."

"Ellie, if you don't shut up I'll take just a few more steps over there and shove this metal foot up your skinny ass."

Salem chuckled, glad that his partner was acting his usual choleric self. He watched as Rios clung to railings at his sides and took small, cautious steps, practicing walking with his prosthetic leg. Salem limped up next to him, leaving his crutches by his seat and dragging his pink cast across the tile floor.

"Look, Tyse. I'll do it with ya," he said with a grin, wincing with every other step.

Rios rolled his eyes and chuckled. As much as he complained about Salem's care, he really did appreciate his friend's loyalty and support. It had been a hard few weeks recuperating at the hospital, but it would've been harder without Salem. He insisted on being with him every step of the way. Samantha wasn't able to stay at the hospital very often because of Nala, but Salem had stayed with him every night, snoring softly in the chair by his bed.

"Daddy!" a shrill voice called from behind them. Both men turned their heads to see Nala running toward them, her little red Chuck Taylor's lightly patting the hospital floor. Samantha followed behind her, smiling at her husband. Rios had reached the end of the rails and turned around, gripping tightly to the cool metal under his palms and smiling widely when he saw his family. Samantha planted a soft kiss on Rios' cheek Nala hugged Salem tightly. The small girl looked down, eying her father's prosthetic with an innocent curiosity.

"That's a cool new leg, Daddy!" she said with a grin.

Samantha gave her a warning look and Rios chuckled. "I preferred the original."

"But, hey," Salem added. "That's the best money can buy. I made sure of it. You gotta admit, Tyse, it's a hell of a lot better than that plastic piece of shit they were offerin' earlier."

"Whatever," Rios said, then began his trek, gripping to the railings. Samantha walked by him, asking him about his condition and catching him up on what he was missing at home.

"Uncle Ellie, I brought my markers!" Nala exclaimed, holding up her coloring box. "Can I draw on your cast?"

Salem smiled and plopped down on the nearest chair, stretching his bandaged leg toward the small girl. "Why not? I mean, it's already pink. Might as well destroy the last bit of manliness I got."

"Don't worry, Ellie. You weren't that masculine in the first place," he heard Rios call from the other side of the room.

"I will kick that fuckin' leg out from under you."

Nala giggled and Samantha glared at Salem, unamused by his crude sense of humor. Nala pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Salem. She propped his cast between her legs and opened her coloring box, carefully selecting each marker. She uncapped a dark red one and began coloring along the side of his foot, biting her tongue as she worked diligently.

"Uncle Ellie? When does Daddy get to come home?"

"Shouldn't be too long now, girly. He's walking. That's a real good sign. What're you drawing. Better not be a flower or anything."

Nala snickered, continuing her coloring. "It's a surprise, Uncle Ellie, and you have flowers tattooed on your arm."

"Yeah, but I got a dragon too. Manly as hell."

"Some of it burned off," she added sorrowfully.

"Yeah," he said, looking down at his scarred arms. "S'okay though."

She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him sympathetically. "Did it hurt? The burns, I mean."

He smiled weakly. "Nah, baby girl," he lied. She nodded and went back to work on Salem's cast, switching markers every now and then as she colored.

"Now you and Daddy both have big scars," she remarked casually.

Salem gave her an amused look. "Yeah. I guess we do. But I think mine's a little more...extensive, yeah that's the word."

"There!" Nala shouted. "All done. How do you like it?"

Salem lifted his foot from Nala's lap and rested is foot over his knee to get a better look at the young girl's art work.

"I love 'em," he said with a grin. "Thanks for manning it up a bit."

Nala bounced in her seat, ecstatic that Salem approved of her design. "I thought a bunny would be good at first, but I decided flames were a better idea."

"Thank God," he said with a laugh. "Hey, can you draw a dragon? Oh, or how 'bout some guns?!"

**Rios Residence, three weeks later...**

"Here, Elliot," Samantha said, reaching out to hand him some papers. She was waiting at the front door of her home, car keys and purse in hand, ready to leave for work. Nala stood by her, her backpack straps sitting snugly over her shoulders. Salem made his way over to her, slightly limping and dragging his foot bound tightly with Velcro in a plastic, protective boot. When she saw he was going to take a while, she left Nala's side and met him halfway, handing him the papers.

"These are Tyson's care instructions, just in case you forget or are unsure of anything. Let's see, what else? Emergency numbers are on the fridge, along with my work number. Give him his antibiotics after he wakes up and eats something and pain meds every three to five hours, but if he's really hurting-"

"Samantha," Salem stopped her. "It's okay. I know. The nurse lady trained me too. Showed me how to clean the prosthetics and everything. I got this."

Samantha sighed. "I just worry."

"You don't gotta with me. I'll take care of him."

"Okay. And don't forget to pick up Nala at 3:30, okay?"

"Yeah," Nala called. "Don't forget me, Uncle Ellie!"

"Never, kiddo," he said with a grin.

"I guess we'll go now," Samantha said, opening the door. Nala said her goodbyes and ran out to the car. Samantha began to leave too when she turned back around to face Salem.

"Oh, and thank you, Elliot," she said with a weak smile.

Salem nodded and and closed the door behind her. He turned and exhaled sharply, then smirked.  
With Samantha at work and Nala at school, he and Rios would have the whole day to themselves. Salem had wanted to help his friend since he was able to stand again, but between Samantha taking off work to be with Rios and the hospital staff trying to keep Salem off of his feet and in bed, it had been almost impossible. He was starting to feel useless. But now that they were out of the hospital and Samantha was back to work, he could finally care for his partner. Salem had seen the affects of losing a limb since his time in the army and at SSC and how it changed people, both physically and mentally. He didn't want Rios to have to go through this alone.  
Salem walked down the hall and made his way to the guest room where Rios had to stay since he couldn't make it up the stairs. He quietly creaked open the door and entered to find Rios still asleep, laying on his back and tucked under the blankets. Salem stepped cautiously to the queen-sized bed and sat next to Rios, carefully shifting his weight so as not to wake him. He crossed his legs and looked around the room idly, thinking of what to do until Rios awoke. He looked at the digital clock sitting on the nightstand, which read 11:43 a.m. It had only been a couple of hours since Samantha left and he'd already tidied up the house, made a fresh lot of coffee, laid out Rios' medication for when he woke up, took a shower, and did the laundry. As he was about to get up from the bed and try to find something for him to do, Rios stirred in his sleep and his eyes fluttered open. He looked Salem up and down, then a small smile crept across his lips.

"Mornin'," he groaned sleepily, running his hands over his face.

"You slept long enough," Salem complained teasingly. "I was bored stupid. Cleaned the damn house for the hell of it."

Rios laughed and smiled up at Salem, who stood up from the bed.

"Want me to make you some breakfast?" Salem asked enthusiastically. "I'll make anything ya want. Just name it and I'll try to cook it and not burn the house down."

"Yeah, sure Elliot. Sounds good. I gotta take a piss though."

"Oh, yeah, hold on," Salem said, walking to Rios' side of the bed and picking up the prosthetic pieces. He sat on the edge and pulled back the blankets.

"Okay, first step," Salem said, picking up the silicon liner. "Gotta put this squishy thing on. Here."

He carefully pushed back the basketball shorts covering the stump and slipped the liner over Rios' bandaged thigh. When it was secure, Salem then reached over to pick up the fiber glass leg.

"Then," he continued. "Ya just slide the leg on. That easy. It hooks on that pin at the end, see?" he said as he positioned the prosthetic onto Rios' stump.

Rios looked up at him with amusement. "Coulda done it myself, Ellie."

"Yeah, I know," Salem said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just wanna make it easier for ya, I guess. Here, let me help you up."

Rios sat up in bed and lifted his prosthetic over the side. Gripping tightly to Salem's arm, he cautiously stood off of the bed with shaky legs. He steadied himself, grasping firmly to Salem's shoulders.

"Step on it some, Tyse. Leg's gotta snap in."

Rios did as Salem said, slowly walking in place, listening to the click of the pin as the prosthetic limb snapped into place.

"There we go," Salem said, holding Rios at his sides. "How does it feel. You hurtin'? Uncomfortable? They said air bubbles can get in it and that-"

"It's okay, Ellie," Rios interrupted.

Salem nodded and moved over to Rios' side, wrapping an arm around the bigger man's waist and placed his arm over his shoulders. They began walking toward the bathroom, both limping and hobbling the whole way.

"You're doing really good, big guy. I think you're walking better than me."

"Still feels weird."

"Nurse lady said it would, but you'll get used to it soon," Salem responded reassuringly.

When they reached the bathroom, Rios held a sturdy grip on the door frame and maneuvered inside. Salem waited patiently outside for Rios to finish and when he came out of the restroom, he once again supported the bigger man and walked him into the living room where both of them plopped down heavily on the couch. Salem leaned back and looked over at Rios, who's forehead was daubed in sweat and chest heaved from exhaustion.

"Thanks," Rios breathed.

"Don't mention it. Hey, I know I said earlier I'd cook ya something, but-"

"You wanna order pizza?" Rios said with knowing look.

Salem chuckled and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. "You know me so well."

About thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang and Salem answered the door. A skinny, pimple-faced blonde teen stood in the doorway, a large pizza box in his hands. His piggy eyes opened widely in shock and kept darting from Salem's eyes to the heavy scars running down the side of his face and neck. Salem exhaled sharply in frustration and was ready to snap at him, but refrained. He was just a stupid kid working some dead-end job, making minimum wage, and from the looks of it probably still in high school.

"Hey," Salem said casually. "What do I owe you?"

The boy hesitated before asking, still gawking at Salem's scars. "Uh, $12.75, sir."

Salem handed him the money and exact change as well as a five dollar tip. The boy stood and continued to gape.

"There a problem?" Salem asked, becoming irritated.

"Dude. What's wrong with your face?"

Salem scoffed. "Could ask you the same, dick," he scolded as he swiped back his five dollars and slammed the door.

"Little fucker," he muttered as he headed back to the living room. Salem laid the warm pizza box down on the coffee table by the couch where Rios laid and lifted the cardboard lid, grinning.

"One large, stuffed crust pizza, half-pepperoni with extra pepperoni, and half-supreme with extra mushrooms, man what the hell is wrong with you? Eatin' vegetables."

Rios chuckled, picking up a piece from the box and taking a thick, cheesy bite. Salem followed suit, finding the biggest pepperoni slice and biting off a large chunk, moaning from the delicious taste.

"Yo," Salem said with a full mouth. "I brought over my X-Box. We should definitely play Halo or something. But not before you take your meds. Samantha will rip me a new one if I forget."

"Sure thing, Ellie," Rios responded, laying his legs over Salem's. The smaller man looked down in his lap and absentmindedly ran a hand over the prosthetic limb, thinking.

"Hey, Tyse?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember when you first got your scar..."

"Yeah..."

"...and you were feeling pretty bad about it 'cause everyone was starin' and gawkin' at you and I told you to stop bein' a pussy about it and get over it?"

"Yeah, Ellie. Where you goin' with this?"

Salem swallowed hard. "I take all that back."

Rios raised an eyebrow. "Elliot, you don't gotta-"

"Really, Tyse. I'm sorry. I was a dumb little shit and I shoulda been a better friend. I swear, if I could go back, I'd slug every sorry fucker that ever had the nerve to look at ya funny."

"It's okay, Elliot," he said as he propped himself up on his elbows. "Doesn't bother me anymore. It's clearly bothering you though. What even brought this up?"

Salem sighed heavily and muttered, "Fuckin' pizza boy."

"Pizza boy? Jesus, Ellie, look at me."

Salem looked up from the prosthetic in his lap and turned his head to face Rios. He appeared so solemn, so insecure, very un-Salem like, which worried Rios greatly.

"Listen," Rios continued. "People are gonna stare. That's what they do. If what some loser kid says worries you this much, I'm afraid of what other people's opinions will do to ya. I lost most of my leg, Ellie. People are probably gonna stare at me like I'm a freak. Your face got burned. People are probably gonna stare at you like you're a freak. Doesn't matter though. At least we're alive and together. I'm okay with being a freak as long as your by my side. You get me, Ellie?"

Salem nodded and looked back down at his hands resting over Rios' legs. "Yeah, I got you. Guess we weren't that normal in the first place," he said with a small smile.

"Nah, that was just you," Rios joked. "When I first met you, I knew something was off, but kind of in a good way. Like that time in Turkey in '98. You remember?"

Salem chuckled lightly, recalling the tale Rios had repeated so many times over the years.

"Yeah, big guy. I remember."

**Hakkâri Province, Turkey 1998**

"Shit! There's too many!" Salem voice screamed into Rios' earpiece as he unloaded his last clip into some oncoming Turkish militants. He crouched and ran behind cover to his partner's side and lifted his mask.

"I'm out. Tyse, what do we do?"

"We need to get to higher ground," Rios answered. "There's a building, like a church or something not too far from here. Maybe half a klick. I say we take cover there and snipe 'em from the windows."

"Sounds a helluva lot better than stayin' out here. Go ahead. I got your six."

Rios nodded and tossed Salem an extra clip, then ran out from behind their cover. Salem positioned his rifle over the barrier, the only thing standing between him and enemy fire. He took aim and fired on the assailants as the attempted to advance, keeping them off of Rios. When his partner was out of range of enemy fire, Salem unhooked the last grenade hanging on his belt and pulled the pen, then threw the bomb over the barrier. As soon as the grenade left his grip, he booked it, running as fast as his armor-burdened body could carry him toward Rios' direction. The bomb exploded behind him, killing more soldiers and throwing up an enormous cloud of dust, providing Salem additional cover. He found Rios waiting for him behind a pile of bricks and rubble from a decimated building and crouched beside him, his breathes heavy, sweat-drenched bangs falling lose from under the straps on his mask and lying plastered to his forehead with dirt and dust.

"There's the church," Rios said, pointing a gloved finger. "Over there. Come on."

He pulled Salem up from his crouching position, grabbing him from under his arm and tugging him toward the old, crumbling building. Rios threw open the doors and ran with Salem in tow up the wooden stairs. Stooping on either side of an open window, the two took aim, resting their guns on the pane.

"I'll take the left," Rios barked and began mowing down Turkish soldiers as they hurdled over rubble and debris toward the church. Salem followed suit, taking down as many as he could. A few seconds later, the enemy began retreating, running back the way they came.

"The fuck?" Salem muttered confusedly, cautiously peering out the window.

"Oh, shit!" Rios exclaimed. He pulled Salem up by his arm and practically dragged him toward the stairs. "We gotta get outta here, find cover!"

"The hell are you talking about?" Salem asked drowsily, the extensive battle and heat taking a toll on him.

"They're leavin' Ellie, and it ain't 'cause we ran them off. They've called in an airstrike to take out the rest of the PKK forces."

An intense roar suddenly grew from out of nowhere, filling the building's staircase and assaulting their ears. Then all hell broke lose. Flashes of blinding light and fire appeared and the windows beside the two men exploded, slicing Salem's cheek and the belts of his mask. The floor caved from under them. Salem screamed in pain as his legs hit the rock and debris beneath him, shattering on impact. Splintered wood and ash rained over him. After a few seconds, when the roar had died down and the only sounds addible were the crackle of flames and the tumbling of gravel and wreckage, Salem, who laid face down on the rugged rock, sluggishly lifted his head, his left eye blinded from the blood that trickled from his forehead. With squinting eyes, he peered through the curtain of ash that opaqued the air around him. When the dust began to settle, he caught sight of Rios. The wreckage and rubble was piled over his lower body and most of his torso, and his body was daubed in ash and dust.

"Tyse!" Salem called, pulling himself out from under the light debris covering him. He cried out, his broken legs slightly cracking as he crawled. Rios lazily rolled his head to face Salem and shook his head, reaching out an arm toward his partner.

"No," Rios muttered, waving him away. "Don't."

Salem ignored him, his head still foggy. It was hard to think straight, his mind and body shaken from the blast. His experience in field medicine and probably common sense would have told him to not move with shattered bones, but his worried and muddled brain suggested otherwise. He just followed instinct at this point, and his instinct was to get to Rios.  
Salem reached out in front of him and dug his fingers into the rugged floor. Slowly he began dragging himself forward. Rios looked at him pleadingly and shook his head, barking orders to stop, but Salem disregarded them like the pain that ran rampant through his body. He gritted his teeth and growled as he slung his other arm in front of him and pulled ahead, shattered glass and splintered wood sliced through his hands and forearms and dug into his legs that dragged behind him. When he reached his partner, Salem clawed his hand onto Rios' vest and inspected him worriedly.

"You stubborn bastard," Rios breathed from his dry throat.

"Shut up," Salem muttered. "Gotta get you outta here."

"You gotta get yourself outta here, Elliot."

Salem ignored him and turned his attention to the debris piled over his friend. He clawed at the rubble at Rios' side, the blood pouring from his fingertips wetting the rock, making it hard to get a hold of. Rios pulled at him roughly by his vest.

"Salem, I told you to stop!"

"Can't stop, Tyse," he said through heavy breaths. "Can't..."

He pulled himself over Rios' chest, clutching tightly to the bigger man's vest for support. Rios placed a hand on him, attempting to push Salem off and away, but to no avail. Salem shoved the hand off of him and arched his back against the mound of wreckage trapping Rios, pushing up with as much force his arms could manage.

"Not gonna work, Ellie."

"Shut up."

"It's too heavy. You can't lift it. Just go."

"No!" Salem screamed, gritting his teeth as he gave one last push before collapsing on Rios' chest. "No..."

He sighed, his breaths coming out jagged and heavy. "So sorry, Tyse."

"S'okay, Ellie," he said, laying a hand over his dusty, tangled hair. "S'okay."

"Not leavin' you."

"I know."

The building shuddered and more debris tumbled down. Salem wrapped his arms around Rios' head protectively, the rubble falling over his neck and shoulders.

"Building's collapsing, Ellie," Rios said grimly.

"Don't care."

"No point in both of us dyin'. Get out while you can."

"Not unless you're comin' with me."

Rios sighed in frustration. No matter what he said, Salem wouldn't listen to reason. He wouldn't leave his side even if it meant his own demise.

"Stupid kid."

Salem laughed softly, then sighed and relaxed on Rios' chest, unconscious.

The next thing he would remember is waking up in a hospital bed back in the states, heavily bandaged and sore, Rios by his side telling him how Alice had argued nonstop at SSC, demanding they send in another crew to retrieve them when they didn't call in for extraction. Three steel plates and eight weeks of recovery later, he was checked out of the hospital and a couple weeks after that, they returned to work. Rios never left the tale untold.


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: **I don't know why, but I can't use *** for scene changes and what not so sorry for the random bold room numbers and locations.

**5 Years Later...**

"Okay, guys, settle down. Seriously, we're having a meeting here," Rios barked, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Amp, headphones. Take 'em out, I've told you this before. Castle! P.I.! Leave Einstein alone, for Christ's sake! And give Baker his pocketknife back! Jesus, people, my fourteen-year-old daughter acts better than this! Try to act a little professional. Where the hell is Salem?"

"Present!" Salem exclaimed as he pushed open the double doors into the presentation room, sliding into the swivel chair next to Rios and throwing his socked feet onto the long table. Rios scoffed at his casual attire of an oversized grey T.W.O. t-shirt and black boxer shorts.

"Not that I'm questionin' yer methods or choice in attire or anythin'," Houston rambled to Salem. "But why the hell aren't ya wearin' pants?"

"Woke up late. A little hung over. Wasn't feeling it. Whole lotta reasons, Houston."

"Did ya sleep in the office again?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions, Houston."

Rios rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the group of men that had finally settled down in their seats. "Moving on," he continued. "We've been hired to do a job in Mexico. Michele and David will give further details." Rios nodded to the two mission coordinators to begin their presentation.

"This is our client," Michele explained, pressing a button on the small remote in her hand and turning on the projector. "Senator Juan Angelo Cordova."

"Senator Cordova's campaign has been a great opposition to the cartel, known as La Guadaña," David explained in a thick British accent. "I believe you have experience with this particular gang?"

"Those guys are still around?" Einstein asked confusedly.

"Unfortunately, the cartel is quite tenacious," Michele answered. Einstein nodded, making a mental note to ask Amp what 'tenacious' meant later.

"Anyway," David continued. "Your objective is to protect Mr. Cordova during his campaign trip to various cities across Mexico. Your convoy will start here, in Juarez," he said, shining a laser-pointer of a spot on the map displayed on the screen. "Then, you will move down, traveling from Chihuahua to Hidalgo del Parrel, then to Durango and Zacatecas and, lastly, Mexico City. Mason will take directions from the contact. Any questions?"

"Who's the contact?" Castle asked.

"A local," Michelle replied. "An informant who knows about the cartel inside and out."

P.I. scowled. "Why the hell can't we ever just go to Mexico without killing anyone. I mean, can't we ever just go to a resort or something?"

"Funny you would say that," Michele said, flipping to the next slide. "First of all, this mission should be strictly defensive, and you won't have to take down anyone unless they fire on you first. Secondly, for your first couple of days in Mexico, you'll all be staying at the Hotel Coral and Marina, a five-star hotel located in Ensenada."

A chorus of appreciative cries erupted from the men as they looking in awe at the towering, picturesque resort displayed on the projector screen.

"Thought some R and R would do you boys good," Salem said with a grin. "Well, that and I'm coming along and wouldn't mind staying at a fancy hotel."

"Wait," Houston said. "You're comin' too?"

"Yeah," Salem answered. "There a problem?"

"No, it's just...you haven't been on a mission with us since...you know and I didn't think you'd be too enthusiastic about another trip to Mexico, especially if the cartel was involved."

Salem chuckled. "Well, to be honest, yeah I was a little..."

"Apprehensive," Rios added.

"Yeah, that's the word, apprehensive about this whole job in general, but it's a pretty big mission for us, considering you're all being sent in, and I'm gonna be Rios' eyes and ears. Plus, all you guys act a little..."

"Puerile."

"Thanks, Tyse. You guys act a little puerile when shoved in one place together. I'm gonna be more of a glorified babysitter than a gun-for-hire. Keep you boys in check. Any more questions?"

"When do we leave?" Mason asked.

"Tomorrow morning," Rios replied. "Your flight leaves at 1030 hours."

**Amp's Apartment**

"Shotgun!" Einstein exclaimed excitedly, hopping into the leather passenger seat of the silver convertible Lamborghini.

Amp rolled his eyes as he lifted open the butterfly door and slid into the slick vehicle. "There's only two seats, moron, of course you're gonna sit shotgun."

Einstein ignored him, too adrenalized for the trip ahead. He had never been to a five-star hotel, let alone one in Mexico. He'd never had he money for it, that is until he joined up with T.W.O. a year ago, and, God, did he love his job. Sure, there was a huge occupational hazard, but there was never a boring day. There was always something new, something exciting. He'd traveled to places most people back home had never even heard of, experienced things that no rickety old farm in Montana could ever offer. Probably best of all, he'd met his best friend.

Everything about Amp emanated 'cool' for Einstein, from his nonchalant, roguish attitude, to his rock-star style, to his wicked Lamborghini that Einstein loved to ride in. One thing Einstein didn't quite understand yet was why he always wore that tattered grey plaid scarf. He never seem to want to talk about it.

The car roared to life when Amp turned the key, and he revved the engine, much to his partner's amusement. Pulling out of the parking lot, the two made their way to the airport, Fall Out Boy's "The Mighty Fall" blaring from the sound system. When they arrived, Rios and Salem were waiting for them in the terminal, along with Houston, Mason, Pike, Bradley, Chuy, and Baker. Einstein greeted them happily then went back to his partner's side.

"We aren't late, are we?" Amp asked with a smirk.

"No," Rios answered. "But P.I. and Castle are about to be."

"No, I see 'em," Salem said, nodding to the two men entering the airport. "Right on time."

"Okay then, boys," Rios said. "You all head out to the jet. Salem will meet up with you."

The other men greeted P.I. and Castle, then made their way out to the company plane. Salem watched them go, then gave Rios a knowing look.

"You still don't want me to go," he said.

Rios exhaled sharply. "Of course I don't want you to go."

"It'll be fine, Tyse. We probably won't even have to fire our guns. Just gotta look intimidating and scare off whoever wants to fuck with Senator what's-his-name."

"I know, Ellie. It's who you're supposed to scare off that worries me. We underestimated the cartel last time, and look what happened."

"Tyse," Salem complained. "That was five years ago."

"Exactly. Who knows the kind of heat they're packing now? Maybe, if I could go with you I'd feel better about you going back, but now I'm stuck in the office, pretty much fuckin' useless-"

"You're not useless, Tyse," Salem reassured. "Look, I haven't been in the field since you lost your leg. You know me, big guy. I need this. I need to get back out there for my fuckin' sanity."

Rios gave a light chuckle. "Yeah, like going out into a war-ridden country's gonna help your sanity."

"You laugh, but you know what I'm sayin'. You used to feel that way."

"Still do sometimes."

"Well, then let me go. I know you'd feel better if you were by my side and everything, but you can't, which sucks, but you can't. I'll be on my radio the whole time and there's the camera on my mask, all our masks, so you can bitch to me about what I'm doing wrong just as fine in the office as in the field. But, nothing's gonna happen."

Rios sighed and gave a weak smile. "Sound sure of yourself, Elliot. Wanna bet?"

"Sure, big guy," Salem said with a chuckle. "The usual wager. This thing goes FUBAR, and a beer's on me."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Rios replied, pulling the smaller man into a hug. "Just, come back in one piece."

Salem patted his back, then pulled away, a smirk spreading across his lips. "Oh, I'm comin' back, and I'm bringing my boys with me."

"They are your boys, aren't they?"

"Closest thing to parenting I've ever experienced. Besides, you know, changing Nala's diaper that one time."

Rios laughed hard at the memory. "I thought you were gonna throw up on her the way you were gagging."

Salem lightly punched his shoulder. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm better with 'em when they're a little older. Anyway, gotta go. Don't wanna make us late."

Rios nodded and patted his shoulder. "See ya in a few days."

Salem smiled and gave a little salute. "Yeah, can't wait for that beer you're gonna owe me."

**Hotel Coral and Marina**

Salem dropped his old duffel bag onto the plush carpet floor and fell heavily onto the large bed. God, was he exhausted. How does Rios do it? How does he keep these guys under control and not kill them? Salem had been stuck on a small plane with them for three and a half hours and it took all his will power not to strangle the little bastards (with the exception of Houston and Mason, who are actually older than him and acted with a little more decency).

Oh, God. I'm starting to sound like Rios.

He checked the digital clock by the bed which read 2:13 p.m. Only two in the afternoon and he was already worn out. Although he knew he should probably keep the other guys out of trouble, his exhausted body thought otherwise. Surely they could take care of themselves for a night. They were killers for god's sake, professional mercenaries. Well, mercenaries anyway.

**Room 307**

"Yeah, baby, I know," Amp said as he paced around the hotel room, holding the cell phone next to his ear. "I will. It'll just be a couple of days, babe. Really, no later than this Tuesday. I'm not there, just talk to Rios at the office, okay? You've met Rios. No, he's not the short one. Yeah. See ya then. Love you too. Bye."

A small smile spread across his lips, then he shoved his phone into the back pocket of his faded jeans. He turned to face his partner, who laid with his head hanging off the foot of the bed, staring up at him upside-down and wearing only his dark green swim trunks.

"Was that Ana again?"

"No, it was my dog," Amp replied with a snarky tone.

Einstein ignored his sarcasm. "She calls you a lot when you're away. Like, all the time."

"She worries."

"Yeah. She really likes you. Hey, put on your trunks. I wanna check out the pool."

Amp rolled his eyes and smirked. "Fine, dork. Give me a sec."

He pulled the ragged scarf off of his neck and tossed it on Einstein's face before taking his swimwear from his suitcase and entering the small bathroom. The blonde lifted up the scarf above his head and straightened it out to its full length, carefully scrutinizing the tattered, faded cloth he was so familiar with, the worn fabric that he had seen wrapped around his partner's neck since they first met, the material that had travelled with them to some of the most dangerous locations this planet had to offer. As far as Einstein was concerned, this scarf was a part of Amp that defined him. It was something he wore everyday that revealed something dark about his past, as if it were a horrendous scar that told of ancient, harrowing wound.

A few minutes later, Amp emerged from the bathroom sporting his black and grey trunks and a black, sleeveless shirt that revealed the Air Force emblem tattooed on his shoulder. He threw a towel over his back and laid his aviators over his head before plucking a worn hardback copy of Slaughterhouse Five from his suitcase.

"Okay, I'm ready," Amp said, nodding to his partner. "Take some shades if you're gonna check out the ladies. Don't want another incident like Milan."

**Room 416**

"Now this is a view," Pike said, leaning over the railing of the balcony outside of their room. "Don't know why Salem would want to trade a room like this for one on the first floor."

"He's claustrophobic," Bradley called nonchalantly as he pulled his hoodie off over his head.

Pike gave him an amused look. "What?"

"Claustrophobia. Like, when you're scared of small spaces."

"I know what it is, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Takes an elevator to get to the fourteenth floor, Ash," Bradley explained. "And elevators are pretty small."

Pike hummed and pursed his lips. "He never told me he was scared of stuff like that."

"Didn't tell anyone. Well, besides Rios, I guess."

"Then how-,"

"You can learn a lot about people just by watching," Bradley mumbled, slipping on a thin, white long sleeve shirt. Pike sighed, throwing a hand toward his partner.

"Russ, it's like ninety degrees out. Can't wear-,"

"I have to," he interrupted, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Don't gotta hide it forever, man. No one's gonna judge you. I mean, come on. You've known these guys for, what, seven years? And Rios and Salem already know. They're friends. You don't gotta hide from them."

"I've put that kind of trust in 'friends' before and it didn't go as smoothly as I'd hoped. Look, if you're not gonna let me wear the shirt, then I just won't go out."

Pike sighed in frustration then walked over to his duffel bag. He kneeled on one knee and unzipped the bag, digging around for a few seconds before pulling out some of its contents.

"Here," he said, reaching a hand out to Bradley. "You won't get a heat stroke from these."

Bradley pursed his lips and reluctantly offered his arm. Pike took a hold of his hand and gently pulled up his sleeve, revealing the long, horizontal scars running across his wrist.

"These should cover up most of 'em," Pike said as he slipped a thick leather cuff over his partner's wrist and tied up the laces. He did the same for the other arm, then nodded for Bradley's approval. The younger examined his covered wrists, then gave a weak, transient smile.

"Thanks, Ash."

"Don't mention it. Maybe one day you won't have to wear anything on 'em."

Bradley shrugged and changed into a navy blue t-shirt. "So, where do you wanna go first?" he asked quietly, wanting to change the subject.

"Don't know," Pike answered. "I was thinkin' we could find a nice restaurant, eat some killer Mexican cuisine, then check out the shops and stuff. What do ya think?"

Bradley nodded, a small grin spreading across his lips. "Sounds good."

**Room 217**

"You know they got a spa here?" Houston said as he flipped through the hotel brochure. Mason hopped on the bed adjacent to his partner's and rested his arms behind his head.

"Sure didn't," he answered as he closed his eyes, a content smile on his face. "Why? You thinkin' about checkin' it out?"

"Never had a massage before. Heard it's relaxin' though, and lord knows I need a little relaxation in my life," Houston looked up from the packet and over to Mason. "What do ya say? Wanna try it?"

Mason chuckled and shrugged. "Might as well. I got a few knots in my shoulders I've been lookin' to take care of."

"Okay, then. Don't have a clue what I'm 'spose to get though. What in Sam hell's a seaweed wrap?"

**Room 015**

Salem awoke when ACDC's "Shoot to Thrill" played noisily from his phone. He reached over and plucked the phone from the nightstand, placing it to his ear.

"Hello?," he grumbled sleepily. Rios' boisterous laugh was recognizable over the phone.

"You sound like shit, Ellie. You sleeping already?" The eye roll was almost audible on Rios' end.

"Yeah, turns out babysitting's not my thing. Fuckin' exhausting," Salem said, rolling over onto his back and resting an arm behind his head. "How're things on your end?"

"Fine. I actually called for Nala. She wanted to see how you were doin'."

Salem chuckled. "She there?"

"Oh, yeah," Rios said with a laugh. "She's telling me not to mention her new boyfriend."

Salem could clearly here the girl's whining protests from the other end.

"Oh, God," Salem said with a laugh. "Give her the phone." There was a rustlingly over the line as Rios handed off the phone to his daughter.

"Uncle Ellie?"

"Hey kiddo. What's up. You know, besides the new boyfriend."

Nala groaned. "Not you too. Daddy's teased me about it since I got home."

"No really. Not teasing at all. Is he cute?"

She sighed heavily, then a shy grin spread across her lips. "Very."

"Give me the deets, girly."

Nala giggled. "Well, his name's Dustin, and he's tall and has brown hair..."

"Okay, sounds real dreamy. Continue."

"Um, let's see, he's on the football team and-"

"Oh, Jesus. Nala, really? A football player? A jock? Thought your old man raised you better. Where did he go wrong?"

"No, Uncle Ellie," Nala said with a snicker. "He's really nice and sweet and-"

"Yeah, yeah," Salem interrupted. "Listen, girly. You don't need a boyfriend. Not in ninth grade. But, that's up to you. I just want you to watch your back with this guy, any guy, okay? I know. I work with them."

"Okay," she answered.

"Sorry, baby girl. I just... I worry, you know?"

"You don't have to, Uncle Ellie. I can take care of myself. Taught by the best," she said with a grin. "Speaking of guys, how's everyone doing in Mexico? You better be getting some good pictures for my scrapbook.

Salem groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "These guys are a handful."

"Even Bradley?"

"No," he said with a chuckle. "He's never any trouble. Houston and Mason aren't either. Well, except when P.I. and Mason are at each other's throats."

"Daddy seems to handle them just fine."

"Yeah, but he's...you know, him. People do what he says. They think, I don't know, he's scarier or something."

"Oh, don't worry, Uncle Ellie," Nala said sympathetically. "I think you're scary too."

"Oh, really?" Salem said with a snort.

"Yeah, real intimidating."

"Thanks, Nala. Glad someone thinks so. Oh, and don't worry about the pics. Your old man made sure I packed my camera. So, what're up to?"

"Well," she answered. "I was just getting ready for kickboxing at three."

"That's today?"

"It is Wednesday."

"Oh, yeah," Salem said, scratching his stubbly cheek. "Well I don't wanna keep ya from learning to kick ass, so I'll let ya go."

"Okay," Nala replied. "I'll see you, what, Tuesday-ish?"

"Shouldn't be no later than that. Miss me."

"Always. Love you."

"Love you too, kiddo."

"Bye."

"Bye, girly."

**Pool Area**

When Amp and Einstein reached the pool, they saw Castle and P.I. wading in the deeper end, while Chuy relaxed on a pool float. Baker sat perched on the concrete edge, lightly kicking his feet through the cool water and making conversation with a young brunette who swam slowly around him.

"Hey, guys!" Einstein hollered as sprinted toward them and canon balled into the large pool. The impact created an immense wave that drenched Baker and the girl. She growled in anger as she wiped the water from her face that smeared her thick makeup and, much to Baker's disappointment, marched out of the pool area. Castle, P.I., and Chuy exploded with laughter, and Einstein was met with a splash to the face from Baker. An elderly couple sitting by the pool complained to themselves as the men joked around. Amp just sat casually in a lawn chair, shaking his head and grinning as he flipped open his novel.

"Seriously?," P.I. called from the pool. "We're at a fuckin' five-star Mexican hotel and you wanna read?"

"Yup," Amp answered cooly, not looking up from the book. "This is a great book. You wouldn't like it, though. No pictures.

"Something's wrong with you, bro. You can read at home. Stop being a fuckin' pussy and get in."

"Yeah!" Einstein agreed. "Come on in! The water's fine!"

Amp exhaled sharply and sat the book down flat on his lap. "If I get in for a few minutes, will you all leave me the fuck alone and let me read?"

Einstein nodded enthusiastically. Amp rolled his eyes and laid the book on an adjacent table. He stood from the chair and slipped off his sleeveless shirt, then made his way to the pool's side. Einstein swam over to him and watched as he sat on the edge and reluctantly slipped his legs into the chill water, then carefully slid the rest of his body into the pool.

"Feels good, don't it?," Einstein asked happily.

Amp hunched his shoulders and held his arms above the water. "Freezing."

"You just gotta get all the way in," P.I. replied slyly as he snuck up behind him. Suddenly, P.I. placed both hands on Amp's shoulders and forced his head under. The man squirmed and struggled beneath the water and a froth of bubbles surfaced. P.I. grunted in pain when Amp elbowed him hard in the ribs, giving the submerged man an escape. Amp let out a gasp when he surfaced and pushed his black, drenched hair out of his eyes. Chuy maneuvered his float away from the group when he saw the enraged look on Amp's face. Better for him to sit back and watch the show than face his fury. Meanwhile, the other men laughed hysterically as Amp wiped his eyes.

"Oh," Amp growled. "So that's how it's gonna be." He suddenly lunged at P.I., who let out a muffled shout when he was plunged under the water's surface. Castle cackled at the sight and made his way over to assist his partner by tackling the assailant. Baker, who remained watching from the side of the pool, shook his head and chuckled at the horseplay. Einstein soon joined, laughing hysterically as he tugged Castle off of his partner and under the water with him. The fight-turned-game soon overtook Chuy's float, and the once lounging man was flipped into the water, causing Baker to join in on the struggle as well. The elderly couple grumbled at the sight and soon left the pool.

"Smile, kiddies!," they heard a familiar voice call. The men paused in their struggle and turned to see Salem grinning madly and holding out his camera. He clicked the shudder and the picture took.

"Nice," Salem said with a chuckle. "Nala's gonna love this one."

**Room 307**

"How do I look?"

Castle, who laid on one of the beds in their hotel room, looked away from the television and up at P.I. His coppery brown hair, still damp from his recent shower, was styled into a faux hawk. A white graphic tee with a provocative Lady Día de Los Muertos printed on the front fit snugly under his worn, black leather jacket. A shiny, dark belt was tied around the waist of his faded jeans, which fell in thick folds around his ankles and red Chuck-Taylor's.

"Look like you're ready for a night of clubbing'," Castle said with a smirk.

"That's the plan. You goin' like that?"

Castle looked down at his grey and navy blue striped shirt buttoned up to the collar, and adjusted his white tie.

"What's wrong with this?," he asked defensively.

"You just look kinda...," P.I. said with a cringe. "Stiff. Here, I'll fix ya."

Castle scoffed, but stood from the bed, allowing his partner to 'fix' him.

"Gotta lose this," P.I. said as he tugged the tie loose from his partner's neck and tossed it behind him. "What're you thinking, wearing a tie?"

"Never been to a place like this before, okay?"

"Whatever," was his reply as he unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on Castle's shirt and untucked the cotton cloth from his pants. "This ain't no fancy party, okay? Just a dance club. People havin' fun, relaxin', drinkin', no big deal."

P.I. rolled up Castle's sleeves and ruffled up his dark hair before standing back to examine his work.

"Much better," he said with a grin. "Now you might actually pick up some chicks."

"I'm not going with you to pick up some chicks, I'm going to keep you outta trouble."

P.I. sarcastically laid a hand over his heart, offended. "Wally, I'm hurt. I can take care of myself."

"Whatever. You know what I'm talking about. This is a big deal for the company and I don't want you to be the one that fucks it up."

"I just wanna have a little fun, okay?," P.I. replied with a sly grin. "Wanna get a little taste of what Ensenada's got to offer."

"Oh, no you're not," Castle said, shaking his head. "I am not getting kicked out of the room because you decided to bring back some piece of ass you met on the street. Nope. Not again."

"Oh, come on, Wally."

"Stop calling me that."

"Walt..."

"That's better, I guess."

"You don't have to leave the room," P.I. said mischievously. "I can share."

"There's something wrong with you."

P.I. chuckled. "Fine. I won't bring anyone back."

"Thank you."

"I'll just go to her place."

"Jesus Christ."

**El Club De Ensenada **

P.I. stood by his partner's side, marveling at the club scene before him. The large room was congested with young people, their sweat daubed bodies only barley visible under the flashing of colored lights and writhing against each other to the rhythm of the powerful, almost intoxicating bass of the music that hammered through his body. He turned to his partner with a grin.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"If you say so," Castle shouted. "What do we do now?"

P.I. laughed and clapped his shoulder. "Dance, drink, talk, whatever you want. I'm gonna join the crowd. Find yourself some friends."

"No! Don't leave m- well shit," Castle said as his partner disappeared into the pulsating mass of people. He looked around the club, feeling lost, until an empty barstool caught his eye. Castle made his way through the packed space and took a seat at the counter. Though the seat made him feel more at ease, the fact that P.I. was still out of sight did not. The agitated man shook his head and turned back to the bar to lean his elbows on the counter.

By about three o'clock in the morning, Castle figured P.I. had had enough fun. He downed the last of his tequila shot and pushed through the crowd in search of his partner. He eventually found him in the sea of people, dancing and grinding against a young girl, presumably a local, donning an immensely short, red dress that showed a generous amount of flesh and hugged tightly to her curves. Castle watched, seemingly captivated as his partner's hand slid up and down the woman's hip, and his nose and lips gently nuzzled at the flowering tattoo that branched up her thin neck. He bet it would nice, having him nibble at his ear like that. Castle shook the thought out of his head, suddenly feeling guilty and more uncomfortable than he already was, and pulled on his partner's shoulder from behind. P.I. stumbled from the light tug, obviously very intoxicated, and grinned goofily when he saw his friend.

"I think it's time for us to head back," Castle said with a concerned gaze. "It's pretty late and we leave for Juarez tomorrow."

"Nah, man," P.I. slurred as he sluggishly pushed him. "Party's just star-started. я не хочу, чтобы оставить."

"I know it's time to leave when you start speaking Russian. Let's go."

P.I. turned his attention back to the dancing girl, and just when Castle was about to drag him away, a burly and very angry Hispanic man approached them, shouting.

"¡Vete a chingada! ¡No toques mi hermana!"

P.I. threw his hands up in the air defensively. "Look, man. I don't know what you're sayin', okay?"

The man growled furiously and pushed him away from the woman. "Pendejo."

"I do know that word though," P.I. garbled as he swung his fist into the man's cheek. The stranger stumbled backward from the blow, but regained his footing, an incredible rage fueling him. The people around them backed away from the quarrel, but stayed close enough to watch. The man pursed his lips and snarled as he flipped open a switchblade from his pants pocket. P.I., who stood defiantly, overcome with temerity, was pulled back behind his partner. Castle protectively stood between the two men.

"Lo siento," Castle said to the man and he stepped backward with P.I. "Fue un error."

The man chuckled lightly and began to turn around before he quickly lunged at Castle with the blade. Castle instinctively drew his hips back to distance his abdomen from the knife and threw both his arms forward, hooking the back of the man's arm and bending him over. The man shouted and tried to kick at Castle, but received a punt to his ankle, fracturing the joint. When the man was incapacitated, Castle turned and grabbed P.I. by the arm, quickly dragging him out of the club.

"Holy shit!," P.I. exclaimed as he was dragged into the street. "That was awesome!"

"No it wasn't," Castle barked. "Coulda been stabbed."

"Well, besides that, I had a-," P.I. stopped mid sentence and began retching on the sidewalk. Castle ran back and held him up as he emptied the contents of his stomach. P.I. shuddered and clumsily stood up, the vomit dripping out of the corner of his mouth and onto his shirt.

"You're a mess," Castle said as he wrapped one of his partner's arms over his shoulder. P.I. giggled in response and began lazily humming and singing the music that continued to blare from the club.  
When they reached the hotel, Castle guided his partner into the elevator. As he was about to push the button for the fourth floor, P.I. swatted away his hand.

"I wanna push it," he whined.

Castle grumbled to himself and rolled his eyes. "Fine."

He watched in frustration as P.I. slowly counted up from the first button and continue to miss pushing the fourth one. Eventually, Castle took his hand and mushed his fingertip against the correct button. P.I. guffawed and held his partner's hand in a firm grip, refusing to let go and making Castle sigh heavily in annoyance. Finally, the elevator doors slid open, and Castle lead his partner, who continued to hold his hand, to their room at the end of the hall. When they entered, Castle pushed P.I. onto the foot of his bed, and helped him remove his jacket and vomit-covered shirt.

"Just sit, okay? Sit," he said, pointing a commanding finger toward the intoxicated man.

P.I. sluggishly nodded his head and snickered as the other man made his way to the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth. When he returned, Castle sat on his knees in front of his drunken friend.

"Here," he said as he gently washed off his mouth and chest with the warm, damp cloth. P.I. smiled contently and sighed as he leaned into his partner's touch. Castle stood when he wiped the other man's face clean and tossed the rag in the bathroom sink. Then, he dug through P.I.'s suitcase and pulled out a fresh shirt for him to sleep in. After helping his partner slide his arms and head into the clean shirt, Castle put him to bed.

"Thanks, man," P.I. breathed into the pillow.

Castle gave him a weak smile and pulled the covers up over his shoulders. "Get some sleep. We got work to do tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 10

Note: To clear up any confusion that may arise about which vehicle is which, I'd like to explain that after watching the cutscenes numerous times, I saw there were four vehicles which were two SUVs, an armored truck, and another SUV in that order. So, when I say car #3 I mean the truck. Also, since Alpha and Bravo are not present, I had to space out the guys a little more, which is why they aren't all necessarily riding with their partners. Well, that's all. Just wanted to clear that up in case I didn't write it correctly or I confused anyone. Anyway, please enjoy.

The small convoy of three armored SUVs and a truck were motioned in by a security guard through the towering wrought iron gates that surrounded the picturesque villa. The vehicles made their way, one by one, down the drive and circled around the large, concrete fountain that was centered in the yard.

"Okay, guys," Salem radioed to the other men. "Just hang tight. I gotta talk to our client before we hit the road."

He slid open the side door of the car and stepped out onto the stone pathway that led to the mansion before them. A few moments passed before he caught sight of the well dressed man approaching them from his home. In one hand, he held a thin pack of papers, and the other adjusted the black tie around his neck. The man gave Salem a benevolent smile and he politely offered his hand, which Salem accepted with his own gloved, callused one.

"Hola. You are Señor Solem, no?" Cordova greeted with a Mexican pronunciation.

"Uh, Say-lem," he corrected. "But, yeah. Nice to meet you in person."

"Yes, likewise," he said with a nod. "I would like to thank you for your assistance in my mission to take down the cartel. Juarez was once a a beautiful city, and I think with your help we may finally be able to 'clean it up' so to speak."

"Yeah," Salem chuckled. "I want to get rid of 'em as much as the next guy. If you're ready, your ride's the second van."

"Oh, yes, of course."

Salem led Cordova to his designated vehicle, and pulled open the side door. Inside, P.I. and Castle sat across from each other. Cordova greeted them politely as he stepped into the armored car and took a seat next to P.I.

"Make sure to hook the GPS on him before we go," Houston called from the driver's seat.

"Here," Castle said as he tightened the small, square device around Cordova's wrist. "Just precaution in case we loose you, which is really unlikely."

"Thank you," Cordova replied, examining the GPS. "What do you call yourself?"

"Uh, Walter. Walter Castle."

"It is nice to meet you, Señor Castle," Cordova said with a smile as he shook the man's hand. "I am grateful for your services as my protectors."

"Don't worry about it," P.I. replied with a smirk. "We're makin' bank on this job."

Castle kicked him, causing P.I. to flinch and spit out a string of creative threats and obscenities.

"For fuck's sake, will you two act like adults just this once," Rios barked in their earpieces, making the others laugh.

"Hey, Tyse," Salem radioed as he hopped into the truck bed with Chuy. "Nice of you to call. How's everything lookin'?"

"Good so far," Rios answered, examining the computer screen that sat at his desk. "Got a clear image from all your masks and I can hear you just fine. I'm giving you the go-ahead."

"Okay, boys," Salem said, patting the side of the truck. "Move out."

"Roger," Mason said from the driver's seat of the truck. The other men radioed in as well, alerting Salem to their primed and ready state. The convoy then made its way back down the stone drive, the hot Mexican sun beating down on the cars and truck, making Salem grateful for the small breeze that blew across his hair and face and liberated him from the heat.

Minutes later, the group reached their destination and entered into the city of Juarez. They could tell the city had once been beautiful, with its odd mix of modern architecture and hacienda-styled buildings, but had fallen apart from the gang wars and crime that had overtaken it. Graffiti coated apartment buildings and electric poles lined the streets, and locals strolled down the unkept sidewalk, some gawking at the armored vehicles that passed by. The men did last minute checks and adjustments on their armor and guns, while Cordova sat reading the papers in his hand, practicing his speech in quiet mumble.

"Hey, Amp," Salem called into their earpieces. "As much as I love the music, turn off the fuckin' iPod."

Stifled laughs could be heard over the radio.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Dude," P.I. said. "Avenged Sevenfold is blaring in my ears."

"Seriously, man," Chuy added. "If you're not gonna turn it off, at least play somethin' good. I vote Wu Tang."

"I second that," Baker added as he followed the convoy in the fourth vehicle. He reached beside him to Amp, who sat in the passenger seat. "Gimme your iPod.

"No."

"How 'bout some Tim McGraw," Houston asked.

"Jesus Christ! Fine!" Amp yelled, ripping out his earbuds. "I'll turn off the goddamn iPod."

"Oh, touchy," Mason said from the front of the armored truck.

"Don't worry guys," P.I. said teasingly. "Amp's just pissed he's got to miss his girlfriend's high school graduation."

The men's boisterous laughter assaulted Amp's ears, further infuriating him. "Why don't you come back here and say that?"

"Okay, ladies," Salem interrupted. "Change your tampons and get over it. You all need to-"

Salem's voice was suddenly cut off as static and interference came over the radio. "Hey, you read me?" he spoke into the walkie talkie hooked on his vest. "Shit. My radio's fucked. Let me see yours."

"Mine's not working either," Chuy answered, lifting his mask and tapping at his earpiece. "I got nothin'."

"Rios? You copy?"

"El-," Rios' voice said before being subjugated by a chorus of crackling and hissing. "-jamming-"

**T.W.O HQ**

"Salem? Elliot, do you read me?" Rios said onto his radio. "Dammit. Michelle, can you have a look at this? Our radio connection just cut off."

The young mission coordinator rolled her chair to the screen Rios sat in front of and examined each operative's channel and mask feed.

"It's not just us," she answered, situating her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. "All their radio transmissions seem to be disrupted. See, there's another signal broadcasting on their frequency. It's disrupting their feed."

"This isn't right. Elliot. Elliot, come in. If you can hear this, someone's jamming your signal. Get outta there."

"Oh my God, Rios," Michele yelled, staring at her computer screen that displayed each operative's video feed. "Something's happening."

**Car #3**

"Something's not right," Salem said to Chuy. "I say we turn back and get-"

The two men in the truck bed watched in horror as an explosion erupted by the first car holding Einstein, Bradley, and Pike, causing it to turn and flip on its top. The pedestrians cried out in shock and scrambled around the area, looking for safety. The burning metal screeched and sparked as it slid across the concrete, finally skidding to a stop when it collided with a nearby palm tree.

**Car #2**

"Houston, drive!" Castle screamed, grabbing Cordova.

Houston floored the SUV, trying to maneuver around the vehicles behind him as fast as he could. His efforts, however, were in vain. An RPG made contact with their vehicle, ripping off the side door and knocking it over as if it were a small toy. The men were tumbled and thrown around in the back of the van until it rolled to a screeching halt on its roof. Cordova's head was smacked against the wall of the car, almost knocking him unconscious. He sat up, dazed and confused, then caught sight of Castle, lying on his side and holding his injured arm.

Through clenched teeth, Castle breathed, "Run."

Cordova grunted as he rushed to crawl out of the wrecked SUV, broken glass and jagged metal ripping at his exposed flesh and linen suit. When his feet met the pavement, he bolted, occasionally stumbling from his disoriented state, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the roaring gunfire behind him as possible.

**Car #3**

"Shit!" Salem screamed as the second car exploded. He then moved quickly to hop out of the back of the truck. Just as Chuy stood with him, an explosion rocked their truck over, spilling both men onto the street. The impact with with the ground knocked the wind out of Salem, and he rolled until his back slammed against the curb. When his head cleared, Salem staggered to his feet and pulled out his Desert Eagle. After he saw Chuy slowly stand and take cover behind a pillar, Salem ran back to the truck. He pulled open the driver side door and helped Mason unhook himself from his seatbelt, then pulled him to his feet.

"You okay?" Mason said, looking Salem up and down.

"I'm fine. Listen, we're fucked unless we get these guys outta here, but we need a ride."

"Gotcha," Mason replied. "I'll find one. Check on the others and I'll meet up with you."

**Car #4**

Amp screamed his partner's name when he saw the explosion erupt at the front of the convoy. He immediately opened the passenger door and was about to step out when Baker grabbed him by the scarf and pulled him back in, trying to hold Amp back while driving the car in reverse. Shots rang out. The window shattered onto Baker's lap and shots peppered the driver's side door. Amp shook free of Baker's grip and fell out onto the concrete street before darting toward the first car.

"Amp! Dammit!" Baker yelled. He jumped out of the car and ran after the other man, but was thrown off his feet when an RPG fulminated behind him, overturning the fourth vehicle. He shook and held his head, discombobulated from the blast, but regained his footing and sprinted toward Amp. When Baker was close enough, he wrapped his arm around Amp and dragged him back behind the cover of a building. Amp struggled in his hold, swearing and attempting to shake loose.

"Amp! Shit, man, look at me!" Baker yelled, shaking him by his shoulders. Amp finally calmed enough to turn his attention to the other man.

"We gotta get outta here and find cover. Are asses are toast if we stay here."

"But, Einstein-"

"I know! Chuy's back there too, but we're no use to them if we take a round to the chest, okay? We all have our GPSs and if the others made it they'll find us, but now we gotta move. You got me?"

Amp stared at him, mouth agape, breathing heavily from the run and struggle. He looked down and shook his head in agreement. Baker patted his shoulder and nodded.

"Okay, good," he said. "Let's go."

**Car #1**

Bradley awoke in a haze, his mind muddled from the wreck. It took him a while to notice he was upside down, and he even longer for him to fumble with and unhook his seatbelt. He fell hard onto the floor, well roof, of the car, making him hiss in pain. He slid his legs off the seat and began dragging himself out through the broken car window, shattered glass cracking under him as he crawled.  
He staggered to his feet, then ran over to the driver's side where Einstein laid motionless, still strapped into his seat. Bradley placed two fingers over the other's carotid artery, and thankfully found a pulse. Taking out his knife, Bradley sliced through the seat belt, releasing Einstein from his seat. Now that he wasn't in any immediate danger, Bradley's thoughts turned to Pike, who was still in the back of the SUV. Bradley backed out of the toppled vehicle and yanked open the side door to find Pike on his side. The younger got on his hands and knees to crawl into the car, and pulled the other over on his back. Bradley checked his pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt the steady thump pulsating under his fingers.

"Pike," he said, shaking the other's shoulder. "Pike, come on."

Pike's eyes fluttered open behind his mask. "Russ?"

"Yeah, man, it's me. We gotta go. There're cartel guys everywhere and Cordova's on the move. We can't-"

Bradley was suddenly pulled by his ankles out of the SUV. When he turned on his back and tried to kick at the assailant, his head was smacked hard by the but of a rifle. He looked up to see a smug, heavily tattooed face peering down at him through the barrel of a gun. Suddenly, a single shot was fired and the gang member's head exploded in a mass of bone and crimson on the concrete. Bradley turned to see Salem lowering his pistol as he and Chuy ran toward him.

You okay, kid?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks," he breathed. "Einstein's in the front. He's breathing."

"Okay, I'll get him. You and Chuy take care of Pike."

Salem crouched around to the front of the car, and found Einstein still unconscious. He lifted the mask up over his face and gently slapped his cheek, saying," Come on, Hicks. Talk to me."

The blonde gradually opened his eyes and looked around confusedly. Salem grabbed him from under his arms and dragged him out of the overturned car and into the street. Einstein, with Salem's help, stood up and pulled his gun from over his back.

"Where are the other guys? They okay?" he asked with concern.

"As far as I know, yeah," Salem answered. "Amp and Baker are on the move for Cordova, and so are P.I. and Castle. Mason's supposed to be getting us a ride."

**A few blocks away...**

Mason made his way down the street, taking cover behind bullet riddled buildings and cars. When he had traveled only a couple of blocks, an abandoned truck parked near the sidewalk caught his eye. He snuck along the wall of of an apartment complex and hopped into the rusty pickup, the door creaking and whining as he slammed it closed. Mason kicked off the plastic panel under the steering column, and then began hot-wiring the old truck. When he stripped the wires and touched them together, the car came to life. He backed up the discolored pickup and turned it around to head back to Salem and the others, veering out of the way of abandoned cars and panicked civilians that congested the street.

**Car #2**

P.I. woke up on his stomach, his back severely aching and the rusty taste of blood on his lips. He sat up with a groan, and turned to see his partner sitting with his back against side door that remained intact, hugging his left shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Arm's fucked," Castle breathed. "Cordova made a run for it. We gotta find him before the cartel."

"Where's Houston?"

"Still in the front- Ah, dammit," he cursed through gritted teeth. When P.I. began crawling toward him he said, "No, I'm fine. Get Houston first."

P.I. nodded and reluctantly left his partner's side to get the other man. He yanked open the door and towed Houston from the car. When he was pulled free from the wreckage, the older man pushed P.I.'s hand away, grumbling something about "no good, rotten sonsabitches."

"You alright, Houston?"

"I'll live, but those bastards won't when I'm done with 'em," Houston growled, pulling his shotgun out of the car.

"Yeah, you're just fine," P.I. said, patting his shoulder. "I'll be back."

He returned to the back of the SUV and slid in next to Castle, who hadn't moved from his place against the side door. His eyes were lidded and he shook his head as he muttered to himself.

"Fi-find Cordo-Cordova."

"Castle, snap out of it. Let me see your arm. Wally!"

Castle released his shoulder and let his partner tend to his wound.

"It's outta socket, man," P.I. said with a cringe. "Gotta pop it back in."

"No wait, sto-Ow, fuckin' shit!" Castle screamed when his partner slid a boot onto his torso and pulled his arm back into place. The injured man doubled over, almost slipping out of consciousness.

"Oh, no you don't," P.I. said, supporting Castle back against the door. "Stay with me, Wally, we gotta-"

A blast from Houston's shotgun bombarded their ears. "Damn, they're everywhere," he shouted, cocking the weapon. "I'll cover ya. Go!"

"We can't just leave you, Houston," P.I. yelled over the approaching gunfire.

"Don't worry 'bout me," he said, shooting down another cartel member. "I gotta get to Mason. You boys find Cordova."

P.I. nodded and helped Castle out of the wrecked vehicle and stood him up. The two ran behind the car for cover and readied their weapons before bolting down the street.

**Car #1**

"I'm out," Pike called out after unloading his last round into the oncoming cartel members.

"Me too," Einstein said, hooking his empty Barrett REC7 behind his back and pulling his SIG pro from his leg holster. "Where do these guys keep coming from?"

"Guys, we need to get to Baker and Amp's car," Salem shouted. "There's extra clips and weapons there. Better us get 'em than the cartel." He began firing blindly over the barrier of the overturned truck. "I'll cover you. Grab what you can."

"Roger," Pike answered. He, along with Bradley, Einstein, and Chuy close behind, crouched behind the cover of abandoned vehicles, bobbing and weaving as they made their way through the war-pervaded city block. When the three were out of sight, Salem unhooked a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin before hurling the explosive over the truck. As soon as the grenade detonated and the blast rang in his ears, Salem darted toward the other men, protected under the cover of dust and debris. He ran about twenty feet behind them, putting a bullet in any cartel member's head that attempted to flank them, stopping only to pick up a pump action shotgun and shells that laid by the bloody, bullet riddled corpse of a tattooed, shirtless thug.  
The three soon reached the toppled SUV and pulled the dented side door from its hinges. Pike climbed on top of the car's side and lowered himself inside. He then passed guns one at a time out of the open door to Bradley and Einstein, who strapped and pocketed all the weapons and ammunition they could carry.  
Einstein stilled when Amp's shattered iPod caught his eye. He lowered himself on one knee and solemnly scooped up the broken device, the snapped and exposed circuit board the only thing holding it in one piece. A gasp escaped his lips when he saw the thin blood trail that trickled down the concrete and disappeared out of sight into a vacant alleyway. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Chuy giving him a weak smile.

"I'm sure he's okay, man," he said reassuringly. "Amp's tough, and Baker's with him."

"Where the hell's that ride?" Pike asked Salem as he approached them, tossing him an extra gun.

"Don't know," Salem answered. "Better hurry the fuck up though. More of 'em are headed our way."

He stood from behind the cover of the car and was about to fire on two more advancing gangsters when the roar of an engine suddenly drew close. A rusty pickup came seemingly from nowhere and collided with the two cartel members, throwing one under the tires and crushing his skull. The other rolled over the hood of the truck, cracking and bloodying the windshield. Gunshots rang from the driver side window as Mason fired his revolver at more of the approaching thugs.

"Sorry for the wait," Mason said as Salem hopped into the passenger seat and the other four men took their place in the bed. He put the truck in reverse and backed up, causing the corpse on the windshield to roll off onto the concrete with a sickening thud.

**Six blocks away...**

"Baker, slow down," Amp called as he ran behind the other man. "You're bleeding."

Baker slowed to a stop, his breaths heavy from the run. He gave Amp a confused look. "What?"

"You're bleeding, man," he reiterated. "Your leg."

Baker looked down to see a crimson stream trickling down from a bullet wound in his left thigh. He leaned against a wall of the alley and slid down to the ground. "Dammit."

Amp threw his gun behind his back and pulled a roll of white gauze from one of the packs on his belt. After kneeling down in front of the injured man, he said, "Here. I'll patch you up."

Baker snatched the gauze from his hand. "Don't touch me," he spat. "I can do it my self."

Amp scoffed and got back to his feet. He swung his M27 rifle to his front and reloaded another clip, while Baker wound the bandage around his bleeding thigh. "Look, I know you don't like me, or whatever, but I just wanna get through this, okay?"

Baker snorted and shook his head. "I wanna get through this too," he replied. "And I think I have a better chance on my own instead of draggin' your punk ass around."

"Listen, asshole," Amp snapped. "GPS says Chuy and Einstein are together with Salem, who is gonna go after Cordova. I say we go that way too and meet up with 'em. Then, you won't have to drag my punk ass around."

Baker glared at him from the ground, then slowly stood up without breaking eye contact. "Alright, fine, I'll go. But if you ever talk to me like that again, I'm shootin' your ass."

Amp stepped back, then lowered his mask. "Okay, good. At least we agreed to something."

**About half a Klick southwest...**

"Where the hell are we going?" Salem asked, watching as the faded billboards and graffiti-lined brick walls rushed past their pickup.

"Just following the contact's directions," Mason answered.

Salem gave him a quizzical look. "How the hell are you talkin' to 'em? Our radios were fucked."

"She's on a different channel, so whatever was blocking us hasn't effected her."

"She?" Salem asked.

"Yeah," Mason said with questioning look. "That a problem?"

"No, it's just..." Salem trailed off. "When Michele said the contact knew the cartel inside and out, I was expecting some thug that was selling out, not a local girl."

Mason chuckled. "Not everyone in Mexico's afraid of the cartels."

Salem nodded, then turned to the driver. "Let me talk to her. I need to know what the plan is."

Mason agreed and told him which channel to turn to. After Salem fixed his walkie-talkie, he put it to his mouth and spoke. "This is Salem with T.W.O. Do you copy?"

"I can hear you loud and clear, jefe," a woman's voice said over the radio.

"Who is this?"

"I'm Mason's contact."

"Yeah, I got that. Maybe you can elaborate a little so I know who's tellin' my guys where to go."

The woman chuckled. "Mason was right. You are grouchy. Name's Fiona."

Salem shot Mason a glare, then put the walkie talkie back to his mouth. "Name sounds familiar."

"Your location is crawling with cartel," Fiona continued. "I sent some friends to meet Mason and bring you all back to my safehouse."

"Uh, Salem?" Pike interrupted as he slid open the window behind his seat. "Don't wanna worry you or anything, but those cars have been following us for awhile now."

Salem turned around in his seat to get a better view out the back window. Sure enough, in the disparate mix of traffic, three black SUVs could be seen trailing close behind them.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "Listen lady. Our hands are kinda full right now. We come now and we'll bring the cartel right to your doorstep."

Mason suddenly veered left, screaming, "Look out!"

A fourth SUV intercepted the road and rammed into the passenger side door, knocking the radio from Salem's hand and crushing the door. The truck gave a violent lurch, and the four men in the back were launched onto the floor of the bed, screaming and holding on for dear life as they were brutally tossed and throw in the back of spinning pickup. Finally, the totaled vehicle skidded to a stop, a dust cloud engulfing the atmosphere around it.

"Get your ass outta my face!" Chuy snapped as he shoved Einstein off of him and picked up his primary weapon. The blonde rolled backward from the push and clumsily fell against the tailgate.

"Sorry," he said with a moan.

Pike shook his head and sluggishly picked himself off of Bradley's legs. "Dammit, Mason," he groaned, fixing the straps on his dark blue mask painted with a white bullseye design. "Watch where you're going."

Mason smacked the steering wheel in frustration as smoke billowed from the crumpled hood of the truck that was bent around an electric pole. He looked over to Salem, who was kicking the at the door and pulling at his leg. "You okay?" Mason asked.

"Door's got me pinned," Salem huffed. "Leg's stuck."

Both men jumped when gun fire erupted behind them. Mason threw open the door and stepped out of the pickup.

"Keep your head down," he said to Salem, who continued to squirm in his seat. "We'll get you out after we take care of these bastards."

He pulled out his Glock 22 pistol and crouched around the car next to the others, who had their primary weapons at the ready. Mason, Einstein, and Chuy began firing on the cartel, drawing their attention and gaining 'aggro' like they had been trained to do with Rios and Salem for years. That gave Pike and Bradley, the marksmen of the small group, an opening to snipe the thugs under the cover of their fire. Salem kept low, still struggling and kicking against the crushed car door. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a Mk3 grenade tumble and roll across the thin layer of sand covering the vacant lot and come to a stop about fifteen feet from the truck.

"Oh, shit," he whined, bending over and wrapping his arms around his head. Though it only took a second, waiting for the blast felt like an eternity. When it finally detonated, Salem felt like every particle in body was rattled and shifted. He couldn't see and the only noise audible to his throbbing ears was a piercing, shrill ring. Familiar, but far away voices cried out, making him jolt and attempt to sit up, but to no avail. The whole world seemed to spin uncontrollably around him, and he slumped over onto his knees. Eventually, his head cleared enough and he slowly sat back up when the smell of smoke pervaded his nostrils. He turned to see flames engulfing the bed of the old pickup, set ablaze by the explosion. That's when he panicked. Salem began feverishly kicking at the twisted metal around his calf, his breaths growing more shallow with every passing second. He was not about to go through this again. He would take an elevator over this any day.

"Mason!" he hollered in desperation.

Mason turned to see flames inching toward the cab of the truck. He cursed under his breath, then turned back to the other men by his side.

"Keep them off of me. Chuy, Einstein, I need your help."

Bradley and Pike nodded and continued the assault, while Chuy and Einstein crept behind cover toward Mason, who was headed for the truck. He crawled into the driver's side and stretched his legs over Salem's lap, then began slamming his boots against the crumpled metal. The other two crouched to the passenger side door, and tried pulling it open from the outside.

"This isn't working," Mason called out to the others when he saw the fire creep closer. "We need something to pry it off, like a crowbar or something. Check that old building over there, and hurry."

Einstein and Chuy looked over to the abandoned structure to their left, long forgotten and plastered with faded, crumpled advertisements and spray paint. The two stooped behind the truck and made their way toward the building, entering through the wide, windowless sills. They began their search, desperately rummaging through jilted boxes and toppling over crates, looking for anything they could use to jimmy open the door.

"Anything?" Chuy called out.

"Nothin'," Einstein answered disappointedly. "Just a bunch of random shit and these barrels of gas."

"Wait," Chuy said as he stood up. "Barrels of what?"

"Gas," Einstein restated. "You know. Like, gasoline. These rusty barrels are full of it."

Chuy gave Einstein an amused look. "Help me," he said with a smirk. "Got an idea."

"Come on," Mason grunted through clenched teeth. He gripped Salem from under his arms and pushed off of the gear shift panel with his right foot, pulling hard under the trapped man's shoulders. Salem's body shifted with the force and he cried out in pain, making Mason stop.

"No," he barked. "Don't stop. You almost had me."

"If I pull any harder I'm gonna break your leg," Mason snapped. "Pike! Bradley! Help me!"

"Little busy!" Pike called as he shot down another advancing cartel member.

Bradley lowered his weapon. "Uh, what are Chuy and Einstein doing?"

Mason turned to see the other two men hastily rolling two barrels, the metal red with rust, toward the enemy's vehicles. They gave the containers a final kick forward, then jumped behind cover by Bradley and Pike as bullets ricocheted around them."

"If you want me shoot those," Pike said. "It's not gonna work. Just stuff in movies."

"Don't worry," Chuy said with a grin. "Left a little something inside."

As soon as the barrels tapped against the bumper two of the parked vehicles, the grenades inside detonated, engulfing the cars and the thugs hiding behind them in a colossal inferno. The men who survived the initial blast screamed in agony as the flames consumed them. Within seconds, they were silenced, devoured by the deadly blaze.

The men cringed at the sight, but where grateful the firefight was over. They were shaken from their relieved thoughts when Mason called out to them, continuing to struggle against the car door. The four rushed over to the burning pickup, each grabbing on to the passenger door from the outside.

"Okay," Mason said. "On three. One. Two. Three!"

As the men pulled and Salem and Mason kicked hard against the door, the metal creaked and moaned, then gave a little. They all stopped momentarily, out of breath, then on on Mason's count, began tugging again. Einstein pushed against the front tire with his feet and clawed at the edge of the opened window, while Bradley and Pike pulled hard from the center, digging their heals in the arid dirt. Chuy gripped tightly to the door handle, kicking off against the side of the truck bed with all his might. The door groaned and rasped from the pressure, and with a sudden loud clang, the hinges gave and the dented metal fell from the car. Mason and Salem fell hard out the driver's side from the unexpected release. The door fell on top off Bradley and Pike, who quickly pushed the rusted piece of metal off of their legs. Chuy fell back onto the dusty ground, while Einstein tumbled backward, wildly kicking up sand and dirt as he rolled. Mason and Salem gave a sigh of relief, and Salem helped the other to his feet, thanking him.

"Hello? Mason?" Fiona's voice called out from the walkie talkie. "Report."

Salem walked over leaned down to pick up the small radio from the sand.

"Anyone alive out there?" she asked.

Salem looked back at the five other men. Everyone seemed to be uninjured. Mason, Chuy, and Pike picked up all the weapons and ammunition they could salvage from the crash, while Bradley helped Einstein to his feet and brushed the fine sand from his hair and tactical gear. Salem put the walkie talkie to his mouth.

"Salem reporting in," he answered. "Yeah, we're still kickin'. Just ran into a little trouble, but it's been taken care of."

"The cartel won't stop until they hunt you don't," Fiona argued. "We need to get you to that safehouse ASAP."

"Looks like the plan's changed."

"No," she said. "If we can get you to the meeting point, they can get you out of there. I know it doesn't sound like much of a plan, but-"

"We'll take it," Salem answered. "But our ride's trashed, so you'll have to tell us how to get out of here."

"No problem. I've got your masks on GPS. I can give you directions from here."

Salem nodded, then waved the other men over. "Copy that," he answered. "We're moving out."


	11. Chapter 11

**Note: In my opinion, I don't think Salem would've left Fiona with the cartel. I think it's just out of character. For instance, in the 40th day, when that Russian guy was going to rape that lady, if you play as Rios and choose to let the Russian guy do it, Salem gets really upset and gives Rios this disappointed look. Also, Salem said. "Are we really gonna let this happen?" meaning he didn't like the idea of just letting a girl get raped. Another thing is that Salem is a bit of a lady's man and I feel like if a pretty young girl was in trouble, he'd probably do what he could to be the hero and give the impression he was tough and manly. Just my thoughts on the matter because in my little remake, he didn't just bail, he actually tried to save her. Oh, yeah, there are translations for all the Spanish I threw in here at the bottom. I hope it's correct. Enjoy!**

¡No vamos a hacerte daño!= We are not going to hurt you!

Necesitamos agua. Y descanso. Por favor.= we need water. And rest. Please.

¿Están en La Guadaña?= Are you in La Guadaña?

Esos pendejos me dispararon.= Those mother fuckers shot me.

¿Están bien?= Are you okay?

Ahora váyase.= Now go.

Lo siento= I'm sorry.

¿Dondé están ellos?= Where are they?

¿Quién?= Who?

Pero no quiero La Guadaña en mi restaurante. Si ellos te dispararon, querrán terminar la tarea.= But I don't want La Guadaña in my restaurant. If they shot you, they will want to finish the job.

Un enemigo de La Guadaña es un amigo mío. Pueden usar la puerta trasera.= An enemy of La Guadaña is a friend of mine. You can use the back door.

Hay botellas de agua en allá. Toma lo que necesiten.= There are bottles of water in there. Take what you need.

Si me mentiste-= if you lied to me

¡Ese es donde los vi! ¡No me mates, por favor= this is where I saw them! Don't kill me, please.

viejo/vejestorio= old man or geezer

Pediré una vez más= I will ask one more time. Where are you hiding them?

Tal vez esto te convencerá hablar.= Maybe this will convince you to talk.

Están en la trasera.= They are in the back.

Gracias para tu cooperacíon= Thank you for your cooperation.

**T.W.O. HQ**

Tyson Rios stared blankly at the eleven live videos broadcasting onto his screen directly from his operatives' masks. Though he seemed composed and collected, inside he was a nervous wreck. His eyes darted from one mask to the next, but paid a supplementary amount of attention to one in particular; Elliot Salem's. Since the attack had begun, Rios had seen his partner thrown, shot at, pursued, and almost burned alive all from the younger man's point of view. The big soldier kept his eyes glued to the screen, afraid that at any moment he could witness his best friend's demise in first person. Communication was gone, so there was no way to contact or instruct his men. They were in peril, separated and running for their lives in a war-torn country, the odds of survival looking dismal. And all Rios could do was watch.

**Downtown Central Juarez...**

"Come on, man," Amp said as he walked backwards to face Baker. The wounded man was beginning to lag behind, excessively favoring his left leg. His mask was lifted, revealing his sweat-drenched face and somber expression as he stared blankly at the concrete, concentrating completely on taking his next step. He licked at his dry lips, and yearned for any liberation from the oppressive heat.

"Just shut up and keep walkin'," he growled. Amp lifted up his black mask, the white skull design covered with metallic scrapes, and gave Baker a concerned look.

"You don't look so good," he said, stopping his backward saunter. "We should really stop and get you outta the sun."

"Don't need to stop," Baker grunted sternly. "Need to get to Cordova."

"Dude, we can't get to Cordova if we get a heat stroke," Amp argued. "Look, there's a diner right there. Let's just pop in for a second and-"

"No, dipshit," Baker snapped. "We stay off the streets. Cartel's gotta have this place on lockdown. Best we keep our heads low."

"It'll only take a sec," Amp whined as he headed up the alley toward the front of the diner.

"No! Dammit, Amp!"

"You can stay out in the fuckin' sun and dry up like a raisin if you wanna, but I'm gonna get an ice cold glass of agua."

Before leaving the alley way, he looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear, then stepped out onto the dingy sidewalk. He turned back to Baker, who hobbled down the alley angrily, and gave him an amused look.

"See?" Amp said, opening his arms. "Nothin'. Come on, let's just check it out."

He turned the corner and ambled into the small diner. It was nearly empty with only about eight people, counting the waitress and cook. The server, a small, plump woman with her hair tied back in a bun, nearly dropped the glass plates in her hand when the heavily armed man entered. She exclaimed something in Spanish and backed up toward the counter, where the cook grabbed a butcher knife. Some customers reacted similarly, edging their way out of their booths or attempting to slide under their tables.

"Whoa, whoa," Amp yelled as he held up his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt anybody. Just need some water, okay?"

Baker pushed through the door as a local man ran frenetically out of the restaurant, and stood taken aback by the sudden commotion.

"¡No vamos a hacerte daño!" Baker exclaimed. The excitement began to die down, and everyone stilled as the injured contractor spoke.

"Necesitamos agua," he pleaded. "Y descanso. Por favor."

The cook held out his knife and warily approached the two foreigners. "¿Están en La Guadaña?

"No, no," Baker breathed, leaning onto a table for support. "Esos pendejos me dispararon."

The cook peered down at the crimson stained bandage tied tightly around Baker's thigh, then spoke to the frantic waitress, giving her a nod. She grabbed a chair and gave it to Baker to sit, then disappeared into the back room, returning with a pitcher filled to the brim with ice water. Amp took a seat next to him and slipped off his mask, grateful for the rotating fan blowing a breeze through his sweat-dampened hair and the cool glass of water dripping condensation on his palm.

"Gracias," Baker sighed as he set the now empty glass on the table. Amp slammed his cup down and began chugging water directly from the pitcher.

"¿Están bien?" the cook asked, eying them suspiciously.

Baker nodded and snatched the pitcher from Amp to refill his glass.

"Bueno," the cook grunted. "Ahora váyase."

"¿Qué?" Baker gasped.

"What did he say?" Amp asked, downing another glass.

"He wants us to leave."

"Lo siento," the man apologized. "Pero no quiero La Guadaña en mi restaurante. Si ellos te dispararon, querrán terminar la tarea."

"Comprendo," Baker replied solemnly. "He's right, man. We're just gonna bring the cartel wherever we go and get people hurt if we stay. We need to lay low."

Amp pursed his lips and stood reluctantly, wishing he could enjoy the air conditioner for just a little longer. He helped Baker to his feet, then offered his hand to the cook.

"Thanks anyway," he said with a small smile, offering his hand. The man placed the knife he held in his hand on the table, then cautiously accepted the handshake.

"Un enemigo de La Guadaña es un amigo mío," he replied. "Pueden usar la puerta trasera."

"Come on," Baker said. "Said we better use the back door."

They both followed the man behind the counter to the back of the diner, watching as customers eyed them and their weapons warily. When they reached the back exit, the man motioned to a small refrigerator in the corner of the storage room.

"Hay botellas de agua en allá," he said. "Toma lo que necesiten."

"Gracias de nuevo," Baker replied.

The man turned and made his way back to the front, while Baker and Amp shoved as many water bottles into their packs as they could. They stilled when sudden loud shouts came from the from the front of the diner, and they dropped whatever bottles they held to ready their weapons. Both quietly slunk forward to get a better view, while staying out of sight. The shouts had come from the man who fled the restaurant when Baker entered, and was now dragged back in by three burly, tattooed thugs.

"¿Dondé están ellos?" one of the cartel members yelled.

The cook gave them a quizzical look from behind the counter. "¿Quién?"

The thug grabbed the man they drug into the diner by his hair and put a pistol to his head. "Si me mentiste-"

"¡No no!" the man cried. "¡Ese es donde los vi! ¡No me mates, por favor!"

The thug released the terrified man, then chuckled as he crawled away, attempting to make a pitiful escape. He then turned his attention and gun back to the cook.

"No me mientas, viejo," the gangster menaced.

When he didn't answer, the one pointing the gun looked to the other gang member to his right and nodded toward the cook. He gave a wolffish grin, then dragged the resilient cook out from behind the counter. Amp gasped and was about to attack, but Baker held him back and urged him to leave, making the other scowl.

"Pediré una vez más, vejestorio," the first threatened as he put the gun to his temple. "¿Dondé les escondes?"

The cook grimaced and stood defiantly before them. The thug bit the inside of his mouth and nodded disappointedly, then motioned for the third cartel member to grab the frantic waitress, who squealed as a tattooed hand gripped tightly around her.  
Baker nodded toward the door, but Amp refused to leave and tried to shake free of the other's grasp.

"Tal vez esto te convencerá hablar," the first thug remarked slyly.

Tears streaked down the plump woman's face as the man holding her shoved the gun under her chin. The cook flinched and his eyes darted back and forth between the waitress and his attacker. Finally, he looked down at the floor in shame and spoke.

"Están en la trasera."

The first gangster chuckled, then said cooly, "Gracias para tu cooperacíon," before shooting the cook in the temple. Amp struggled feverishly in Baker's grasp as he dragged him out the back entrance, their scuffling feet and Amp's loud protests inaudible under the shouts of the customers. The waitress' scream was suddenly cut off by another shot, making Amp feel internally numb. Baker had to roughly tug at his scarf and pull him forward to get him to run. When the two had sprinted a considerable distance from the diner, they rested in a murky and squalid alleyway, leaning against the crumbling brick walls and panting heavily.

"You son of a bitch," Amp huffed angrily. "You fucking bastard."

Baker simply glared at him, too out of breath and in pain to argue.

"You just let them fucking die!" Amp screamed. "We coulda stopped 'em!"

"Fuckin' keep your voice down, man."

"No!" Amp yelled as he stood up from the wall. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Too much of a pussy to fight a couple gangbangers? You piece of-"

"Don't pin this all on me!" Baker rebuked. "I just saved your ass! They woulda found us and chased us down, and in our condition, we wouldn't last long! Besides, if you listened to me and stayed off the street, none of this woulda happened!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Amp shouted, suddenly feeling sick.

"This is all on you, man," Baker scolded. "Might as well have pulled the fucking trigger yourself. Never change, do you? Selfish bastard. Gotta do what's good for you and whoever gets in the way, oh well. You did it to them, just like you did it to-"

"Don't you fuckin' bring him up!," Amp growled. The intense heat, smells of the alley, and overall shock and grief mixed into a sickening cocktail that became too much for him. He suddenly bent over and began retching violently, the several glasses of water he guzzled earlier now a foul, acidic fluid trickling down the backstreet. He shuddered and slowly stood up, using the wall for support.

"Don't bring him up," he choked as he wiped at his watering eyes.

Baker sighed heavily and shook his head. "Let's just get Cordova and get the fuck outta here."

**Guadalupe Bravo District (southeast Juarez)**

"So," Salem said casually into his walkie talkie. "Where to next, girly?"

"The main road's going to be heavily guarded," Fiona's voice answered over the radio. "You can use the old aqueduct to get around them. And don't call me girly again. Ever."

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Just thinkin' about someone else." He looked back at other men, who stood behind him, their masks lifted, waiting for orders. "Come on, guys," he called, waving them over. "Move out."

They obeyed, following close behind. Bradley kept silent, keeping a keen eye on the vacant, desert landscape, while Pike hummed quietly to himself. Einstein absentmindedly kicked a rusted, brittle can through the sand and tufts of grass as he casually held his Barrett REC7, and Chuy further pushed up his long sleeves, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Guess that's the way," Salem said, nodding to the stone and brick archway. He yanked open the rusted gate that guarded the way, then stepped down into the dark, murky tunnel.

"Ah, nasty," Chuy complained, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Smells like shit," Pike added as he plodded disgustedly through the muck that flooded the tunnel's floor.

"Oh, quit your bitchin'," Salem snapped. "After trekking through an Indian sewer system for three hours, this is nothin'."

"Wow," Pike drawled sardonically. "Never heard that story before."

"But, he's told us that one, like, a hundred times," Einstein said earnestly.

"Sarcasm, man," Chuy explained, rolling his eyes.

Salem shook his head. "Just keep moving."

After about ten minutes of trudging through the abandoned conduit, Fiona's voice once again sounded in their earpieces.

"Okay, guys," she said. "Just a few more feet, and there should be an opening to your right."

"I see it," Salem answered. "That our way out?"

"Yeah," she responded. "After you get out of there, head north about four hundred meters where you should see some houses. More like shacks, really. The rally point's at the east side of that neighborhood."

"East side. Got it," Salem said. They approached the light that came in from the top right of the aqueduct, then began scaling the stone wall. Salem braced himself against the crumbling brick under the opening and laced his fingers together. One by one, each man step-jumped out of the conduit, until everyone was back out into the sweltering sun. Mason laid down on his belly and offered a hand to Salem, who leaped up to take it and, with the other man's assistance, climbed to the surface.

"Contact says rally point's that way," Salem pointed to the small concrete houses barely visible over the flat horizon. "Let's try to stay out of there, though. Too many civilians."

He suddenly began patting at his vest and back pockets, cursing under his breath when his search came up empty.

"Hey, any of you guys pick up a little grey bag when we were looting through the cars?" Salem asked.

"No, man," Chuy answered. "Little busy being shot at."

"Okay, smart ass," Salem remarked. "Just checkin' 'cause I lost mine."

"What was in it?" Bradley inquired.

"Nothin'."

"Had to be something," Pike chimed in.

"I don't know," Salem said defensively. "Just aspirins and shit. Forget I asked."

They made their way toward the impoverished community, their soft footsteps and Pike's crooning the only things breaking the silence.

"Could you stop humming for five minutes?" Chuy complained. "Same damn song this whole trip."

"Sorry," Pike said with a chuckle. "Amp got it stuck in my head in the car."

Einstein swallowed hard. "Hope he's okay."

"Don't worry, kid," Salem reassured. "GPS says he's on the move."

"At least he's not alone," Mason said. "Houston's got nobody right now."

"Yeah, bro," Pike added. "Amp can he one mean mother fucker, and Baker won't let anyone kill him before he gets to."

"Yo, man," Chuy said. "That whole thing Baker told me about Amp and Herrera true?"

Bradley went rigid, and Pike shook his head at Chuy. Einstein looked at him quizzically. "Who's Herrera?"

"Nobody, Hicks," Salem said sternly. "And tell Baker to mind his own business, Chuy."

"That's the place?" Pike inquired, changing the subject. "Damn. Shady as fuck. And I know. I'm from Detroit," he said with laugh.

"Yeah, guess so," Salem answered. "Just a little further, and- oh, shit."

A rusty, red farm truck covered with scrap metal for makeshift armor and a mounted gun veered around the single wall partially circling the slum, throwing up dust and fish tailing as it rapidly approached them. Small plumes of sand were kicked up by bullets hitting the desert floor in front of their feet.

"Head for the houses!" Salem shouted as he bolted. The others followed suit, ducking in a desperate attempt to avoid taking a bullet.

Pike ran up beside Salem, yelling, "But I thought you said-"

"I know what I said!" Salem interrupted. "But do you see any cover out here?! There's our best chance!"

With a sudden pivot, he sprinted between the small concrete homes and began firing in the air with his pistol in order to scare any civilians off the street and back into their homes. Mason followed close behind, yelling and waving his hands when he saw two young boys riding their bikes close by.

"Chuy! Einstein!" Bradley called to the men running at his side. "Take the left. Pike and I will take the truck!"

"We'll what?!" Pike exclaimed.

"I'm cool with not getting run over!" Chuy called over the roar of the approaching engine. "Come on, man!"

The two veered left and disappeared between the houses, leaving the others by themselves as they sprinted across the desert landscape.

"And your plan is?!" Pike asked.

"Remember Odintsovo?"

"What the hell does- oh," Pike said, finishing with a smirk. "Gotcha. Same as last time?"

Bradley nodded, flipping down his red mask with a single thick stripe running down the center, and both pulled their rifles from the back of their tactical vests. The truck grew ever closer, and so did the maniacal taunts and laughter from the passengers inside. Gun fire erupted and bullets kicked up sand around their ankles, but didn't hit them, even though the cartel members had a clear shot. That wouldn't be as fun to them, Bradley inferred, as running them over like stray dogs. Bradley looked to his partner, and could clearly see the concern in his eyes when the truck was only three meters away and closing in fast.

"Now!" Bradley screamed, and both men dove to either side, the car so close to hitting them that the front bumper tapped the tips of their boots. The driver turned the wheel hard to the right, and Bradley and Pike got to their feet, aiming their weapons. As the truck swerved hard to turn around, the two took aim and shot simultaneously. Pike took out the driver, making the truck turn out of control, while Bradley shot out the left front tire, causing the already unstable, top-heavy vehicle to rollover. The men in the back were spilled out onto the ground, two crushed by the rolling car, and the passenger inside flew out the broken windshield and broke his neck, killing him instantly. The three survivors stood clumsily and ran at them, guns blazing, before being mowed down by a string of bullets. Pike chuckled in amazement as he strode to his partner's side.

"That was fuckin' awesome," he breathed, offering his fist as he gazed at the destruction before them. "You're a genius, bro."

Bradley gave him an amused look and couldn't help but laugh, then lightly pounded his partner's fist with his own before walking back toward the homes. It was just so typical of Pike, to get so tickled about such a small victory and a bit of action. That was one characteristic that made the other man so agreeable with him. His childlike fascination with demolition and explosions, as well as his sense of optimism and appreciation for the little things that came out in situations like these, and was something that kept Bradley going when everything seemed to fall apart.

His quiet laughter came to a stop, though, when another armored truck noisily rounded the corner and began firing. Pike let out a pained cry and fell backwards hard onto the ground. Bradley cursed under his breath and bolted toward his injured partner, who tried to pull himself to his feet, only to fall back onto the sand. Small clouds of dust appeared around Bradley's ankles as bullets hit the ground around his feet. One ricocheted off his mask and another off his shoulder pad, but one hit his calf, making him stumble and fall. He quickly pushed himself back up and sprinted forward, the adrenaline and necessity to save his partner dulling the pain and keeping him on his feet. Bradley skidded to a halt beside Pike and tugged him up, wrapping a limp arm around his shoulders.

"Move, God, please move!" he yelled through gritted teeth as he carried the other man toward the homes. The familiar roar of an approaching engine and Spanish taunts flooded his ears, and he turned to see the vehicle only about 15 meters away. Bradley pulled with all his might, the thoughts of how they were going to die and how it was his fault and how he never should have put Pike at risk like that running rampant through his head. An abandoned tire half buried in the sand snagged his right boot, making him lose his balance. He fell on top of his partner, who laid unconscious, his breaths quick and jagged. Bradley sat up and looked behind him, the truck now only a few meters away, and then laid protectively over Pike, wrapping his arms around his head. The chances of him making it out of here alive looked minuscule, but that wasn't going to stop him from doing whatever he could to safeguard his partner. He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the end.

"Where's Pike and Bradley?" Salem barked when Chuy and Einstein took cover by an adjacent wall.

"Said they were gonna take care of the truck," Chuy answered, readying his gun.

"They what?!" Salem shouted. "The hell are they thinking?! And you left them?!"

"They told us to," Einstein said. "Bradley said to get to the houses and they'd stop the car."

The sudden sounds of crunching metal and screams filled their ears, and only a few seconds later the roar of another engine and more gun fire ensued. Salem cursed and ran from behind cover toward the noise, Mason close behind. They bolted down the street, then rounded another house to the back, where they saw Bradley desperately dragging an unconscious, possibly dead Pike toward the safety of the homes, only to collapse on the ground. Salem charged at the truck, twin pistols blazing, bullets denting the thick hood and piercing the windshield. The truck swerved slightly, then made a sharp turn, missing the two men on the ground by only a few inches, and covered them in a thin layer of dirt. Bradley slowly unburied his head from his partner's vest and looked around in confusion, unsure if he was still alive or if the afterlife looked an awful lot like the Chihuahuan desert. He was shaken from his daze when two hands gripped tightly under his arms and tugged him to his feet, then placed his arm around the other's shoulders.

"You're okay," Einstein reassured when Bradley momentarily fought in his grasp before recognizing him. The wounded man worriedly looked back, remembering his partner, to see Mason lifting Pike off the ground and over his shoulder. With a sigh of relief and Einstein's support, he limped toward the homes. Salem soon joined them, throwing Bradley's other arm around his shoulder.

"I took out most of 'em," Salem said. "But a couple are still behind cover. Let's get he hell outta here while they get their shit together."

They regrouped with Chuy, who was standing with his back against the wall, reloading his weapon, and peering cautiously around a crumbled, bullet riddled concrete corner.

"Thanks for the assist, fucker," Salem scoffed as he and Einstein sat Bradley down against the wall.

"Couldn't get to ya," Chuy vindicated. "There's a whole lot more of 'em coming in. Pike okay?"

They turned to Mason, who was kneeling in front of the unconscious man and inspecting his wounds.

"He took one in the side, and shoulder, and two in his thigh," Mason explained. "Nothin' too bad, but we need to get him outta here so we can patch him up."

"Alright, alright," Salem said, running a hand across the back of his head as he organized his thoughts. "We just gotta make it to the rally point. Not that far. Mason, you okay with carrying Pike?"

"Yeah," Mason answered. "I got him."

"Good. I got Bradley. Chuy, Einstein, take their six. You can still shoot, right kid?"

Bradley stood up from the brick wall and limped back to Salem, who pulled his arm around his shoulder for support. "Yeah," he huffed.

"Okay, great. We can do this," Salem breathed, trying to reassure himself more than his men. "Let's move."

With Salem in the lead, they crept along the rough walls of the homes. After slinking about ten meters Salem held up a hand, then made a fist, signaling them to halt. According to the contact's directions, the rally point was just across this lot. He cautiously peered around a corner, grimacing when he spotted a group of heavily armed thugs pacing the area. He threw up his hand, folding down his middle finger to indicate there were eight enemy combatants up ahead. He turned back and pointed at Chuy and Einstein, then waved them forward, wanting them to advance and provide cover. The two nodded, then crouched forward silently, each taking cover behind the dilapidated brick flower beds that lined the block. Both carefully lowered the barrels of their guns over the concrete tops of the flower beds, and took aim. With an affirmative nod, they began firing on the thugs. At first, they scrambled, suddenly taken off guard by the gunfire and their screaming, bleeding comrades wallowing in pain on the broken stones lining the courtyard. When they finally gained cover, the criminals returned fire on their assailants, hollering and cursing at them in Spanish. Salem and the others took advantage of the new distraction, and quickly took cover behind some other stone walls and flower beds a short distance from Chuy and Baker.  
The two were becoming overwhelmed as more murderous cartel members were drawn to the roaring gunfire, coming seemingly from everywhere and slowly making their way around the barrier protecting the operatives. Chuy fired blindly to avoid the bullets wildly ricocheting off the stone barrier and the wall behind them, while Einstein crouched against the brick and hurriedly reloaded his weapon.  
A sudden aggressive shout erupted over the gunfire, and the operatives peered over the brick to see a large, burly, rugged man emerge from under an archway at the other side of the lot, bringing with him another small group of heavily armed cartel members. The man unsheathed the machete strapped to his back and held it at his side as he approached them. The torn wife-beater he donned was stained with dried blood and a long, recently-stitched gash streaked across his thickly tattooed chest. He pointed the machete at them, and once again yelled at his men, ordering them to advance.

"There's to many," Mason said nervously.

Salem aimed his gun over the top of the flower bed and mowed down more of the ferocious thugs. "I know."

"Got a plan?"

"Working on it," he answered, taking the last grenade from his belt, pulling the pin, and tossing it over the wall. The explosive tumbled across the stone slabs and rolled to a stop at the burly man's feet. The men around him backed away hurriedly, but he simply chuckled, then kicked the grenade back. It exploded in front of the short brick wall, killing a nearby cartel member and knocking Salem, Bradley, and Mason off their feet.

"We are so fucked," Chuy breathed.

A figure appeared from around the archway and began firing at the bloodthirsty crowd, knocking them to the ground with fatal blasts from their AK47. When the dust settled enough for him to get a clear view, Salem saw it was a woman, presumably their contact. While the cartel dealt with the new distraction, Salem rewrapped Bradley arm around his shoulder.

"Now's our chance," he said to Mason, who situated Pike over his shoulder. "Let's move!"

Chuy and Einstein crouched over to the others, then followed them as they ran along the outer wall of the courtyard, shooting down thugs as they went. The six took cover behind the side opposite of Fiona.

"Get in the truck!" she yelled over the intense sound of gunfire.

Einstein and Chuy hurriedly jumped into the bed of the rusted pickup, then lowered the tailgate, allowing Mason to lay Pike in the back and hop in beside them. Salem helped Bradley to the front and placed him in the passenger seat, then joined the others in the back. With the operatives' covering fire keeping the cartel members at bay, Fiona bolted to the truck, hopped into the driver's seat, and floored it, fishtailing as they sped down the arid dirt road.

**The Safe House **

The pickup slowed to a stop in front of a small shelter nestled into the dusty hillside congested with chain link and hovels. The men in the back hopped out onto the desert floor, and Mason scooped up their wounded comrade from the bed. Salem opened the passenger side door and helped Bradley to his feet, then the group followed Fiona into the decrepit refuge. After unlatching a multitude of heavy locks, she pushed open the door and led them into one of the smaller rooms where a broken down cot sat in the corner. Mason carefully lowered Pike down onto the bed and sat him up to undo his mask and bloody vest. The injured man groaned, slowly regaining consciousness as Mason pulled off his shirt and tended to his wounds. Seeing that Pike was taken care of, Salem made his way back to the main room to tend to Bradley, but Fiona placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"You're arm," she said. "It's bleeding."

Salem inspected his left bicep that had been clipped by a bullet in the earlier firefight. "Yeah, just a flesh wound," he replied casually. "I gotta take care of the other one first."

"Güero has got that covered," she remarked, nodding to Einstein as he wound gauze around Bradley's calf. "Take a seat and let me patch you up."

Salem sighed, then reluctantly took a seat. Fiona plucked a red first aid bag a water bottle from a nearby shelf and pulled up a chair next to him. She laid the bag in her lap and uncapped the bottle, then trickled water over the bloody wound. When the gash was clean, she gently patted it dry with a towel.

"Can't believe it's you," she said as she uncapped the alcohol.

"Could say the same about you."

"Five goddamn years," she recollected. "You know, for the longest time, I thought you were dead."

Salem scoffed. "Lot a people did."

He winced when she applied the alcohol, then looked back up to study her face.

"You saved my life. You and Rios," she said. "I don't even know your name."

"Salem," he answered dryly.

She gave him an amused look. "I know that. I'm talking about your first name."

He sighed and looked down at his bleeding arm. "Elliot."

"Elliot Salem," she reiterated. "Has a ring to it."

He peered back up at her, watching her curiously as she tended to his arm. "What the hell are you doing? Why would you get involved in all this again?"

"Hold this," she instructed, placing a gauze patch over the wound. Salem put pressure on the dressing, then Fiona wrapped more around his arm and tied it. She sat back in the chair and sighed, then looked back up at Salem.

"I want to kill Esteban Bautista."

Salem nodded. "So, just good old fashion revenge."

"I like to think of it as justice," Fiona remarked. "That bastard." she growled. "He-"

Her voice cut off and she looked down at her hands, shaking her head. "He hurt me," she finished. "And he's gonna get what's coming to him."

Salem stayed silent, taking in her words. "You're not the only one who's got a grudge against him," he muttered. "Not the only one he's hurt."

She glanced back up at his face and carefully scrutinized the scar tissue branching down his cheek and neck and down to his arm.

"I know," she said. "And I'm sorry. He's hurt a lot of people, and he's going to keep hurting people until someone stops him. Permanently."

"And I'm all for that," Salem replied. "But not if it gets in the way of our job, or gets my boys killed."

Fiona smirked. "I can do that. Just help me get Bautista and I'll do everything I can to get you Señor Cordova back."

"Good," Salem remarked cooly. "Glad we're on the same page."


	12. Chapter 12

Pike clawed his fingers into the bed sheets and a pained whimper escaped his lips as Mason cleaned the flesh wound in his side. Bradley sat silently in a wooden chair by his bedside, staring worriedly at his partner.

"There," Mason mumbled, tying the gauze wrapped around the other's waist. "It's over."

Pike let out a jagged breath and slowly began to relax. Mason took a syringe, a tourniquet, and a small vial of morphine from the first aid kit. As he readied the injection, Bradley took his friend's hand in his and gently patted the sweat off the other's damp forehead with a clean rag. Pike languidly turned his head to his partner and gave a weak smile.

"We get 'em?"

Bradley chuckled and nodded. "Oh, yeah," he answered quietly. "They didn't know what hit them."

The wounded man grinned and closed his eyes, seeming satisfied with with the response. Mason eased the needle into Pike's arm and pushed down on the plunger of the syringe. When the barrel was emptied of morphine, Mason pulled the needle out and held a cotton ball over he injection site. He tossed the used syringe in the trash and grabbed a roll of tape from the kit, then applied a small strip of it over the cotton ball on Pike's arm.

"That'll knock him out for a few hours," Mason explained. "Fiona has some painkillers you can take for your leg. They'll make you a little drowsy, so try to get some rest."

"Wait," Bradley mumbled. "I'm not going with you? I could be useful."

"No," Mason answered, grabbing his mask and gear. "Salem wants you to stay and keep an eye on Pike. Besides, your leg would just slow us down."

Bradley nodded, then turned in his chair to face Pike, who was slowly drifting off into a drug induced sleep.

Mason left the two alone in the room and closed the door behind him, then made his way through the old safe house toward the main room where the others were gathered around Fiona as she worked the GPS on her laptop.

"There," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Found your boys. Looks like they're all headed toward the resort outside of town, Raya Del Sol."

"Yeah," Salem added, pointing at a small blue dot on the GPS map. "That's where they took Cordova."

"No it's not," Fiona retorted. All the men gave her a questioning look. She sighed and rolled her eyes, then scrolled to another part of the map.

"There's an abandoned church not too far from town," she explained. "They store drugs and guns there. They'd take him there."

Salem scoffed. "Yeah, well, GPS says otherwise."

"I have been studying La Guadaña for the last five years," she snapped defensively. "Trust me."

"Salem, maybe we should listen to her," Mason suggested. "I mean, she is our contact. Maybe we should use the intel she gives us."

"Look, I'm just followin' the GPS, okay?" Salem barked.

"How 'bout we split up," Einstein added. "Then if one of us is wrong, the other guys will be at the right place."

"Splitting up is the last thing we should do," Chuy replied. "Strength in numbers, man."

Salem nodded. "Chuy's right. Besides, this way, we can all regroup."

Fiona exhaled sharply in defeat. "Fine," she huffed, picking her gun holster up from the table and strapping it around her shoulders. "But you know I'm going with you."

"Whatever you say, girly," Salem said with a smirk. "It's your truck."

"Jesus, it's hot," P.I complained, yanking at his shirt collar as he walked across the sandy, vacant lot.

"It's Mexico," Castle said, strolling by his partner's side. "And maybe if you didn't wear long sleeves, the heat wouldn't be as much of a problem."

"Well, sorry," the other remarked snarkily. "I had the impression we were gonna stay in an air-conditioned SUV the whole time, but no. Fuckin' cartel decided to blow it up. And I burn easy, asshole."

Castle rolled his eyes and chuckled, amused with the playful banter that always occurred between them. After a few minutes of silent walking, P.I. threw his head back and groaned.

"Bored, bored, bored," he muttered, kicking a rock across the sand. "Wally, I'm bored."

"Yeah, I caught that," Castle replied irritably. "Don't know what to tell ya."

"Uh, Wally. Wally, Wally, Wally," P.I. said with a grin, knowing the nickname annoyed his partner.

Truth be told, Castle didn't really hate it. He hated how much he liked it, really. These feelings he had for his partner bothered him, felt so wrong to him. Being raised in an extremely conservative household, he learned from a young age to hide this "abnormality," this "disease" that plagued him. To think of P.I. in any other way besides platonically erupted a guilty pang in his chest, as if he committed some great betrayal. So, he did the only thing he could do; bury it deep down and accept the fact that whatever he wanted between them would never happen, and move on, no matter how much it hurt.

His dismal thoughts were interrupted when P.I. suddenly broke out in song.

"I came, I saw, tore down these walls  
Block one way, I'll find another  
You know you'll always be discovered  
If it's me, you choose, I can't lose  
I'm in love with you if you love me too, yeah!"

"Christ, really?" Castle complained.

P.I. ignored him, and instead began shaking his hips and dramatically motioning his hands as he sang, beaming at Castle the whole time.

"Don't ever change, and I'll stay the same  
We'll be swimming in the same direction  
And we'll never lose this connection  
Nothing they can do can stop this army of two  
We're marching to the future, yeah, it's me and you!"

"Why?" Castle whined. "Why this one?"

"Come on, Wally. You know the words."

Castle shook his head and laughed, pretending not to enjoy the spectacle. Damn, the guy had a voice. He watched as the other sang and danced vivaciously, happy that he had found a new source for entertainment and was enjoying himself, considering the circumstances.  
After years of working with him, Castle had only found out bits and pieces from his past. He knew P.I. was Russian, not that it was some big secret, taking into account his name was Pavlya Ivchenko. He knew he grew up in some overcrowded, poor orphanage, but didn't know if his parents died or simply gave him up. The only way he got out was by running away because no one would take him, no one wanted him. He grew up on the streets, doing whatever it took to survive, even if it wasn't by the most ethical or legal means, and Castle saw he obviously wasn't proud of it. These acts of survival didn't go unnoticed, however, and he was arrested at seventeen for armed robbery and gang affiliation, and sentenced to six years in Vladimir Central.  
Most of the tattoos etched into his skin were a result of his incarceration and life in the mafia, like the two eight-pointed stars placed just under his collar bones, the thorny rose on his inner forearm and shoulder, the dagger running down to the base of his neck, and the growling tiger head on his right pectoral. Unlike the designs bestowed on him with his consent to tell his life story, the two eyes drawn on his hips were forced onto him as a sign of humiliation.  
The ink on his skin was not the only permanent mark he received during his sentence. A chance encounter with an irritable prison guard and a ferocious Caucasian Mountain Shepherd during a small skirmish in the yard left him with deep, wide teeth impressions on his left arm and shoulder. It was a miracle the beast didn't rip out his throat.  
He didn't have the chance to carry out his full sentence, however. Seeing he was old enough, the state drafted him into the army. He wasn't too discouraged about being forced to enlist, knowing the military meant food and opportunity, which was more than he would ever have on the streets or in a dingy cell. He made his way up the ranks, eventually joining the Russian Special Forces and specializing in hand-to-hand combat. There, he learned to speak English. His hard work and dedication to the job should not be mistaken for esteem for authority, though. He hated being forced to risk his life for a nation he felt did nothing to help him, abandoned him, which contributed to his thirst for escape. He went AWOL, fleeing to the United States and living as an illegal for four and a half years, learning to hide his accent and make a new start. After about living so long as a civilian, he grew restless. He could leave the restraint and suppression of the Russian military behind, but he couldn't do the same for the thrill of combat. He eventually found work at T.W.O., who took an interest in his skill set. Rios seemed apprehensive to hire him, considering his background, but Salem insisted he could be an asset to the company, saying that he "could just tell," and even ended up giving him the nickname when he was unable to pronounce his full one. Reluctantly, Rios allowed his partner to hire the seemingly unwise choice of employees and they generously aided him in acquiring a green card.  
Castle vividly remembered the first time he met P.I. The Russian was extremely distrustful of him at first, and equally against the idea of being partnered up. After surviving all these years by using his own wits and skills, a partner seemed obsolete and a hindrance. But if Castle was anything, it was patient. He didn't give up on him, no matter how much he pushed him away those first few weeks. Pavlya was his first partnership with T.W.O. and he was determined to make them work. Over time and with Castle's diligence, P.I. began to understand that life was different for him now, and as hard as it was to grow used to, not everyone was against him. T.W.O. promoted the importance of teamwork and camaraderie, which was a foreign concept to him at first.  
Looking at him now, Castle could see his partner had come a long way. He learned to enjoy himself, let down his guard some. He still felt the need to keep others at a safe distance, but around Castle he could relax. He truly trusted him, and that was something Castle didn't take lightly.

"Oh, fuck," P.I. groaned, rolling his shoulders.

"You okay, man?"

"Don't know," he answered. "My back's killing me. I hit it pretty hard when the car rolled over. Can we stop for a sec?"

Castle looked around worriedly for a place to stop where they could have a decent amount of cover if any cartel members showed up. Scanning the desert scenery, he caught site of a structure up ahead, the top just visible over a small, hill scattered with tufts of dry grass and cacti.

"Not here," Caste answered. "Let's head just a little further and see if we can't stop at that building."

P.I. glanced over to where Castle pointed, and nodded in agreement. The building, they found, was actually a construction site for an unfinished home, multiple unfinished homes. Most likely a new neighborhood put on hold because of the growing cartel violence. Castle gently pushed open the knobless front door and check the area to make sure it was empty. All he saw were racks and tables of tools along with unfinished dry wall and flooring, so he motioned for his partner to enter.  
P.I. placed his primary weapon on one of the many tool tables and began unhooking the straps of his tactical gear. He laid his vest and shoulder pad by his gun, then gently pulled the tan, long sleeved shirt over his head.

"Damn," Castle breathed, marveling at his sweat glistened, muscular back. There was that guilty pang again.

P.I. looked back at his partner quizzically. "Likin' the view?"

"What? No, it's just... You're bruised up pretty bad," Castle ruefully answered. "You're bleeding a little too. Let me help."

P.I. plopped down on a nearby stool and sighed, wiping his sweat drenched face with the back of his forearm. Castle took the small med kit from his backpack, as well as his nearly empty canteen, and pulled up a seat behind him. He uncapped the top and tipped it over to trickle a thin stream of water down the other's bloody shoulder blades. P.I. flinched, surprised by the sudden cool running against his heated flesh.

"Warn me next time."

"Sorry," Castle replied, recapping the canteen.

P.I. let out a small chuckle. "Didn't say you had to stop. Felt great."

"Oh," he said sheepishly. He continued to slowly pour the last of his water over the other's wounds, and gently pat them dry with the one of the two spare shirts he carried in his backpack. One for him, and one for his partner.

"How much farther until we reach Cordova?" Castle asked as he began to apply the adhesive bandages.

"GPS says about half a klick."

"What about the others?"

"Looks like we're gonna beat them to it," P.I. answered. "They're all about a klick or more away, except for Pretty Boy and Head Case. They haven't moved in a while, actually."

"You shouldn't call him that," Castle muttered, applying the last bandage. "Bradley, I mean."

P.I. turned his head to give him an annoyed look. "You know it's true, though. The guy's a nut."

Castle scoffed. "Just 'cause he's quiet doesn't make him a nut. He's been through some shit, you know? We all have. I think he's just got a different way of dealing with it."

"No, I've been through some shit," P.I. retorted. "That kid grew up fucking loaded, everything handed to him. I mean, come on."

"Money doesn't necessarily mean happiness," Castle said, tossing P.I. his shirt.

"Yeah, well where I came from, it certainly lifted your mood," he replied as he slipped the shirt over his head. "It's not just that, though. The guy doesn't talk to anyone. Well, besides Pike. He just sits there and stares at ya."

Castle snorted. "You don't like a guy just for looking at ya?"

"When the guy has that high of a kill rate, yeah I get a little uncomfortable when he just looks at me. I've shared cells with guys like that, you know. They're the ones you got to worry about. The quiet ones. Sure, they sit there and mind their own business and keep to themselves, but you let your guard down and you end up with a knife in your back. I swear, one day he's gonna snap and shoot up HQ or something."

"Let's talk about something else," Castle griped, slipping his pack over his shoulders and picking up his gun. "Just get ready. Cordova's not too far. Sooner we get him, sooner we can go-"

P.I. held up a hand and shushed him. "You hear that?" he muttered, squinting around the construction site.  
Castle pricked up his ears, listening intently for whatever alerted his partner. A low rumble slowly grew closer, and the men looked to each other with unease. They inched back toward the center of the unfinished room, unsure of where the noise was coming from. The low rumble soon turned into a booming roar, then became an explosion as an armored SUV burst through the dry wall before them.  
The two dove to the right to avoid being crushed beneath the monstrous vehicle, then scrambled to their feet. Castle quickly pushed over a metal tool bench, which both men crouched behind for cover, then tossed P.I. his machine gun since his partner's tactical gear and weapons were on the other side of the car. He then pulled the pistol from his side holster, noting he was running extremely low on ammunition. The throwing knives sheathed in the straps of his backpack would be a last resort.  
They listened as the doors of the SUV creaked open and booming, threatening shouts bombarded their ears. Castle leaned out from behind the bench and began firing short bursts at the cartel members that clambered from the car and behind the cover of wooden columns that supported the unfinished building.

"How did they even find us?!" P.I. yelled over the gunfire. "We're in the middle of fucking nowhere!"

"Don't know!" Castle hollered back, shooting one of the thugs in the chest. "Just kill 'em!"  
He cursed under his breath when the gun clicked empty.

"Listen," he barked. "I'm out. You gotta cover me so I can get your gear."

"Okay, I got your six," he answered as he fired blindly over the toppled tool bench. "Be careful."

Castle nodded and lowered his mask, then crouched around their makeshift cover. He put his back to one of the thick posts supporting the building, and peered carefully around it to his right. He counted six thugs, each alternating fire as they took cover behind the heavily armored SUV and tool tables. He couldn't tell exactly, but it seemed there was someone else still in the vehicle. Three men laid bleeding out on the sawdust covered concrete floor, his earlier kills. Their numbers were dwindling, though, as P.I. took them down one at a time when they attempted to advance. Looking to his left, Castle caught sight of P.I.'s gear laid scattered across the floor, the table it had previously rested on knocked over in the collision. He began creeping toward his partner's equipment, then heard the SUV creak and rock under someone's weight. A thick boot stamped heavily onto the floor, then another as a large, burly man stepped out of the vehicle, placing a thick helmet over his head. The cartel member grimaced in P.I.'s direction, then charged toward him as fast as his heavily armored body could carry him. P.I. stood up from behind cover to get a better shot at the gargantuan thug that barreled toward him, firing a long string of bullets. The metal armor clinked as the bullets ricocheted wildly off of it, and the large man swatted P.I. in the head with the back of his metal covered forearm. The contractor let out a grunt and fell to the floor, only to be hauled up by his shoulders by the gangster and slammed against the wall.

"Güero estupido," the giant man chuckled, wrapping a thick gloved hand around P.I.'s neck.

A sudden smack to his shoulder caught his attention, and the man looked back to see a balanced blade jutting out of his metal shoulder pad. He dropped P.I. to the floor and turned around, laughing when he saw Castle standing defiantly a few feet away, holding P.I.'s machine gun in his hands.

"¿Quieres jugar también?" the man condescended. Then, he charged, throwing up his arms to cover his face as Castle fired at his armored body. The smaller barrel-rolled behind the giant to narrowly escape the swiping wrecking ball of an arm that swatted at him. Castle quickly pivoted around on his knee pads and fired a long line of bullets up the assailant's back, attempting to find that chink in the armor like Salem and Rios always trained them to do. The large man's body shook and rocked as the shots clipped at the metal plates strapped to his back, but he remained stationary, seemingly unharmed from the assault. The gun clicked empty, and the man chortled in response. Castle hastily ripped another clip from his belt and worked on reloading the weapon, but went rigid as thick boots stepped just in his field of vision. Timidly, he peered up to see a smug grin spread across a tattooed, rugged face. He quickly jumped back, but in vain as the man gripped the straps of his mask and a wad of his dark hair into his grimy fist. Castle kicked and fought vivaciously in the giant's grasp, but his efforts went unnoticed and the man lifted him a few inches off of the concrete floor with ease. Since his right hand was occupied with the task of ripping the sausage like fingers from his head, Castle pulled a knife from the backpack strap with his left and repeatedly jabbed at the neck piece around the man's bulbous head. Again, he simply laughed at his feeble attempt, and gripped his left wrist tightly.

"Tus cuchillos pequeños no puedo ayudarte, mamoncete," he chided as he snapped Castle's wrist. The operator cried out in pain and released the blade, letting it clatter onto the floor. The cry then turned into a growl, and Castle continued his struggle, kicking and wriggling in the man's hold.

A saw table near the wall caught the cartel member's eye, and he hauled the crazed contractor towards it, a sinister grin spreading across his lips. With a push of a green button, the saw buzzed to life, making Castle still in horror at the realization of the thug's intentions. The man gripped his wrists in one hand and held the back of Castle's head in the other, then began forcing him head-first toward the whirring blade. Castle gritted his teeth and fought with all his strength against the immense force pushing down on him. Sparks flew as his mask made contact with the saw, and the screeching of metal-on-metal made his screams almost inaudible.

P.I. slowly and clumsily got to his feet. His head throbbed with an excruciating rhythm, and the familiar metallic tang of blood flooded his mouth from the crimson stream dripping from his nose. A harsh, jarring sound assaulted his ears, which did nothing to soothe the jabbing pain in his skull. When his vision cleared enough, he realized where the noise was coming from. The armored cartel member that nearly knocked his head off was forcing his partner's face onto a table saw. With gritted teeth, he stumbled forward, maladroitly fingered an axe into his grip. The end of the axe fell to the ground with a loud clang as the disoriented man lazily drug it off of the the tool table, but the whirring saw made it inaudible to the cartel member.  
P.I. stumbled forward, trawling the head of the axe across the concrete floor as he made his way toward the thug. When he came close enough to the gangster's back, he gripped the throat of the handle tightly in both hands and, with a scream, he plunged the tip into the thug's helmet and dragged him off of his partner. The unexpected pull caused the cartel member to lose his balance as well as his helmet, and he fell to the floor with a thump, dazed and confused. P.I. placed a boot over the helmet and ripped out the axe. Without hesitation, he once again swung the axe into the air and plunged in deep into the exposed flesh of the gangster's head, making a sickening crunch. Out of adrenalin and hysteria, he repeatedly hacked at the corpse, screaming with each collision of metal on bone. After the sixth swing, he began to calm down. With a shaky breath, he peered up to find Castle rigid, watching the scene with dread. Though his mask was down, P.I. could still see the horror in his eyes. He looked back down at his bloodied axe and hands, then let the weapon clatter to the floor.  
Castle slowly lifted his mask and stepped around the bloody mess that was once a person toward his partner.

"You're okay," he gently reassured, pulling the other into an embrace. "You're okay."

P.I. didn't hug his back, nor did he resist. He just stood there, grateful for someone to hold him up and the familiar scent of his friend that blocked out the encroaching smell of death that began to flood the room. Castle pulled back and held the other's face in his hands.

"You need to get cleaned up, okay?" he said, smearing some of the splattered blood from his partner's cheek. P.I. looked up at him confusedly, then nodded and followed him to the unfinished kitchen of the home. There, Castle sat him down on the dusty counter top and relieved him of his ruined shirt, then tossed it aside. He turned the knobs of the kitchen sink and was relieved to find the water running. Ripping the left sleeve from his shirt, Castle ran the fabric under the cool water trickling from the faucet, then returned to his partner who stared blankly at his bloodied palms. Castle held his cheek with one hand, and with the other gently cleansed his face of brain matter and blood. P.I. closed his eyes, the cool feeling of the water against his face snapping him back to reality.

"That fucker break my nose?" he muttered. "Hurts like a bitch."

"Don't think so," Castle answered, dabbing the cloth over the bridge of P.I.'s nose. "He fucked up your eyebrow pretty bad though. Let me fix you up."

Castle retrieved the bandages from his pack as well as the last clean shirt he carried, then returned to to his partner, where he began mending his slashed brow.

"Never killed like that before, Wally."

"I know," Castle replied. "It's okay."

"He was... He was gonna... I had to."

"I know. You saved me, P. You did good."

"These guys are crazy," P.I. breathed. "They're crazy. They want to kill us. They like killin' us. I had to, Wally."

"Hey, hey," Castle said, holding the other's face. "You don't have to feel bad about that. They attacked us. They were asking for it. It's us against them, and you won. That simple. Don't you dare feel guilty."

"I don't feel bad," P.I. murmured. "I liked it.

Castle looked at him quizzically, not expecting that particular response.

"I liked it, Wally," he continued. "It felt good to drive that axe into that fucker's head. There's something wrong with me, Wally. I'm... I'm just like 'em."

"No, no, no," Castle argued, burying P.I.'s face into the crook of his neck. "You're nothing like them. You had to. You had to to save me."

He began to feel the other's spine shudder under his palm, and his shirt began to dampen.

"It's just us," Castle continued. "That's what matters. We're okay. We're okay thanks to you. You got me?"

He felt his partner's face nod against him and a weak smile spread across his lips. P.I. pulled away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You tell anyone I cried," he said, sniffling his nose. "And I'll fuck you up."

Castle chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Yeah, okay. My lips are sealed. I'm gonna get your gear, okay?"

P.I. once again wiped his eyes and nodded. The other made his way across the room where his partner's equipment laid strewn across the floor, as well as the bodies of mutilated cartel members. He scooped up the other's vest, gun, and mask, then approached the larger corpse near the table saw. Castle looked down at the bloodied mass that was once a face with disgust and crouched down beside it. He gripped tightly to the balanced blade jutting out of the corpse's shoulder pad and ripped it out, then picked up the one lying on the floor where he dropped it when the thug had fractured his wrist.  
He examined the joint, which now began turning a dark hue, and sighed in frustration. This was going to complicate things. Hopefully, if they got to Salem and the others they could mend his wrist, but right now P.I. was his main concern.  
After picking up more weapons and ammunition from the fallen gangsters, he turned his attention toward the armored vehicle lodged into the unfinished home. It most likely would still run, and along with not having to trudge through the sand, the SUV would provide better cover and protection for him and his partner.  
He returned to the kitchen, where P.I. remained seated on the counter top, and laid his items next to him.

"After you're ready, let's check out that car," Castle said. "If we could get it out and running, that'd save us a lot of time and energy."

"Sounds like a plan," P.I. replied as he slipped on the clean shirt and began applying his gear. He snapped the buckles of his mask together and threw his machine gun over his back. The two returned to the center room of the home where the SUV sat jutting out of the wall.

"I'll drive," Castle stated, hopping into the driver's seat. "You push."

"Whatever you say," P.I. answered as he placed his hands on the grill of the vehicle. "Oh and Wally, dear? Make sure it's in reverse."

Castle rolled his eyes, and turned the key, making the engine roar to life. He put the SUV in reverse and pushed his boot down on the gas pedal. The car jerked and fought against the debris underneath it, but eventually got free of the rubble and fell out onto the sandy ground. P.I. pumped his fist in victory and laughed, then ran over to hop into the passenger seat.

"This is more like it!" he exclaimed happily.

"Yeah," Castle agreed. "Let's get Cordova and get the fuck outta here."

"Holy Mary, Mother of God!" P.I. shouted with a grin. "Thank you Jesus, we have A/C!"


End file.
